The Assistant
by BookDragon
Summary: Not deer hunters. The equation went something like this: humans plus heavy ammunition equals Vampire Hunters. Part II begins.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**"_The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness."-Joseph Conrad (1857 - 1924), Under Western Eyes, 1911_**

"Charna's guts! You weren't kidding."

"I never kid." Steph sniffed.

The wood was deliciously smooth, polished. It was beautiful. Whoever crafted it deserved praise, in the macabre sort of way. Opened the lid and found the inside padded with a red silk lining. Honestly, it was clear the man had an uncanny fascination with the color crimson. Of course, if what Steph said was true, then that might only be natural. Blood, after all, was red. Perhaps the color had become a symbolic meaning. Vampires love blood after all.

Not that I believed in them. Coffin or no coffin. My uncle Tally had had the same strange affection for sleeping in enclosed spaces (along with an equally odd collection of cuss words), but that hadn't made him a vampire.

I sighed.

"Look, this doesn't prove anything. He might be a vampire fanatic just like you. It doesn't make him legitimate, or prove that vampires _exist_. Let's just-"

"I'm not leaving."

"Steph-"

"I'm not leaving. Go home." I opened my mouth.

"Before you even start, I can see you shaking from here. Go home. I promise I'll ask him for an autographed picture if you want, but you have to leave. _Now._"

I almost did. She was using the 'do not argue with me' voice. It's the same one she used when glaring down Sandra Magpie, the girl in the fifth grade that use to pick on me. It implied harm if not obeyed. It was startling to be the target. I almost caved under the pressure, but-

"The guy is _not_ a vampire. Trust me."

"I saw him in one of my books. It's a fact."

"But books are fallible, just like human beings. Human beings write them. It could be one of his ancestors or something-"

"With the same exact _scars_? Impossible."

"Well, what if they're self inflicted?" I blabbed, "You know, like maybe he _wants _people to think he's a vampire. You know, perpetuate the myth."

"Do you know how utterly _stupid_ that-"

Footsteps. Coming up the hall. Fear froze my lungs.

"Quick! He's coming!" Stephanie hissed.

I panicked. It was a split second decision, one I immediately regretted. Nor would it be the last. Without even thinking about it, I flipped over the side of the box and hit the bottom hard, despite the padding. Darkness descended fast and the lid snapped shut.

_Click._

Pitch black. I shuffled around and blinked stupidly. Where was Steph? I'd expected her body weight to come crashing down on me. Instead, I was alone. In the dark.

_In a coffin_.

On an intellectual level, the experience would have been dead interesting. Unfortunately, the fear of discovery completely ruined it. A soft thud came from above just before a distinct creaking sound: the sound of a door opening. There was a pause.

"What are you doing in here?" a low voice demanded.

My stomach tightened. It was the vampire. Or what Steph was calling a vampire. I still didn't believe it, despite being in a coffin. For instance, there was no soil lining the bottom of it and everybody knew vampires needed to rest in the soil from their homeland. That's how they kept their strength and pretty much why the coffin was preferred. No soil was just another indication that he imitated the life style, that's all.

Or what I read could be wrong. But that was remote. However, books _are_ fallible. My own damn argument just came back to bite me in the ass. Vampires don't exist anyway, so it was a moot point. As far as I was concerned, he wasn't a vampire.

No, he was just the God of all Drawing Models.

"Is that how you greet your fans?" Stephanie asked. She sounded sly. Also, her voice came from directly above, which pretty much told me she was sitting on the coffin lid. I could picture her perched, her long blonde hair sliding over her dark gray t-shirt, blue eyes glinting with a mysterious grin on her face.

"What do you want? An autograph?" The low voice asked. Is that what he sounded like? I'd been too distracted earlier to pay attention. It was disappointing. Hoped for a Russian accent or something. Instead perfect English. Damn.

"Sure, as long as you signed it as Vur Horston."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me…_vampire_."

Internally I groaned. _Here goes Buffy. _There was a brief silence. I expected some kind of smug reply or an outright denial. Instead, the average voice asked,

"Who sent you?"

Goosebumps immediately broke out. He sounded genuine. Genuine normally indicates either a good actor or a psycho. Sure, he traveled with performers, but I didn't want to take any chances. An urge to start pounding, to start kicking and screaming rose. I didn't. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't. Perhaps it was survival instinct.

"No one sent me. I recognized you from a painting in one of my books. I wasn't lying when I said I was fan. Vampires are pretty much my obsession. I'm very pleased to meet you, Horston."

"My name is _Mr._ Crepsley." He snarled, then added, "Please leave."

Steph didn't move.

"Crepsley _does_ sound better, I have to admit. Anyway, I have a proposition for you, _Mr. Crepsley_. One that will benefit both of us. I'll be blunt: I want you to turn me into a vampire."

The world flipped upside down. _What_?

"In return, I won't call the cops and I won't spread your name across the Internet for a bunch of vampire hunters to find. Oh, and I'll even throw in a snack into the bargain-"

Stephanie rapt cheerfully on the coffin lid.

_Oh_, okay. I understood now. This is a joke. It's a practical joke. Steph would never do that to me, so this had to be a joke-

"-just to show no hard feelings. What do you say?"

"And what if I just killed the both of you?" Mr. Crepsley asked. His voice was icy. There was also some predatory glee in it.

I knew it was a joke yet I stopped breathing anyway.

Steph chuckled.

"You could do that. Of course, I texted one of my friends, you know, just incase. I mentioned you, full description. If I go missing, the police will be mighty curious. I'm also the First selectmen's daughter and he's a tenacious bastard. If anything happened to his little girl, there would be hell to pay. If the cops don't get you, he'd definitely hire some people to hunt you down with relish."

Stephanine Lynch was the daughter of Mathew Lynch, the first selectman of Willowwich. Mr. Lynch was a tall blonde man that liked to wear striped navy suits and red ties. When he smiled, his teeth were perfectly white and straight. He smiled a lot. Too much. It made me nervous. Steph wasn't particularly fond of him either, so our paths rarely crossed.

"And if I did change you into a vampire? How would you get away from him?"

Here, it was easy to imagine Steph grinning.

"Let's just say I have my ways."

"What about your mother? Or your friends? You could never see them again. You could never have children either. It's a lonely life." The vampire replied in a low voice.

Steph laughed.

"I never wanted kids. My parents are the _reason_ why people shouldn't have kids. My mother has her persciptions so she has no time for me and my father…well, he can't really keep his hands to himself." She snarled.

The bruise on her arm three weeks ago suddenly flashed in my memory. And the broken arm before that. I remembered the there-and-gone again smile as she rubbed it, _"Fell down the stairs"_.

Covered my face in the dark, horrified at my own stupidity.

Her voice evened out, much more somber,

"And my friends? They don't really care about me. Even if they did, I think they would understand."

Chest ached instantly. Loss isn't new to me, but it still hurts every single time. She was right though. I understood.

"Even when you offer them as a sacrifice?" He asked.

"Not as a sacrifice." I could easily picture Steph wagging a finger at him, "I've done my homework. Vampires don't kill those that they feed on. You won't kill her. If anything, she might find the experience novel."

Oh _thanks_. I'm strange, but I'm not _that_ strange.

"Not usually_." _The vampire replied, "There is always a risk she-"

"-just as I have put myself at risk for hers." Steph replied briskly, cutting him off, "I don't need to explain what those situations were, not to you. Dawn's approaching so stop wasting time. I've made up my mind. I want an answer."

There was silence. A long terrible silence. White noised crackled in the bitter attempt to hear the silence. I hoped I was dreaming. It could have been a dream. Finding the flyer? Getting the Tickets? The show? It could have been. Maybe in reality I feel asleep in during Mr. Hutchings' class and Stephanie was going to nudge me awake any minute now. In a half hour it would be time to go home. I'd do my homework and paint. The next day I'd go to my drawing class. By then, this nightmare will have left me behind and-

"Let's test your blood."

_Charna's guts!_

More silence. My heart was banging loud in my ears, my imagination running a horror movie. In it, Stephanie was bearing her throat and Mr. Creplsey, the God of all Drawing Models was pulling closer. His hands moved and lightly touched the curve of her hip, then rested on her waist. Steph tilted her head a little more to the right. Her jugular was fully exposed. He leaned his puzzle of a face in, opened his mouth…

_By the Black Blood of __Harnon Oan__!_

Raised a hand to thrust the lid open. Froze at the sound of choking. Then spitting.

"What's wrong?" Stephanie asked. I was incredulous at the worried tone. Then, even more surprised when I heard,

"Get out."

"What's wrong-?_"_

"Your blood is rotten. You cannot become a vampire. Ever!"

"Rotten? How is it-?"

"_You are evil! A monster!_" A pause beat for two seconds.

"I'm a what...?"

No rage. Just honest pain. The three words came in one long keening sob, like someone just ripped her heart out. It was much more potent than the there-and-gone again smiles or the forced cheerfulness. It was worse than the low tired whispers, the hunched shoulders, and even the snarling curses.

I knew I should've raised hell. In my imagination, I started kicking and screaming, putting large dents behind the cushioned walls, calling the vampire a son of a bitch and vowing to rip his fangs out.

Because Stephanie never showed weakness. It was beneath her. She was an iron maiden. The warrior princess that crossed miles of emotional bogs and muddy trenches, house fires, brutal murders, the oceans of paint and charcoal, and other oddities where no one else dare set foot, and _found_ me. Like a goddess, Athena herself found me and _accepted_ me for what I was. She had forced me to come back to the real world.

In reality I'm staring at the dark, completely silent. _You are a monster. _If Steph,_ Athena incarnate_, were a monster…then what was I? Before I could even begin to fathom such impossibility, she spoke. Her blade-like voice sliced,

"No, y_ou're_ the monster here. An _abomination_. Killing you would be a service to-!"

Suddenly he laughed. It was black.

"Kill me? Do you know what I could do to you? Crushing your bones would be as easy as snapping twigs, you stupid girl! Kill me-?"

"Try it. I _dare_-!"

Something crashed. _Cracked_. My heart flinched hard, then tried to wriggle out of my ribcage. There was a loud high-pitched _gasp_. Not pain, a tremor of utter terror. A thud followed on its heels, and a voice bellowed, animalistic with a roar-

"GET OUT!"

The door slammed.

* * *

Have you heard of that weird theory involving a cat with poison shut up in a box? Schorgenger said something like it was possible that the cat was both alive and dead simultaneously, as long as you didn't look inside.

Too bad I can't remember what his point was.

All I know is this is the situation in reverse.

Was the room empty? Was Stephanie still here? She wouldn't leave me. That would be like finding snow in hell. She was the only thing that kept me from vanishing. In that way, she was selfless in tying me to reality.

However, that didn't change the fact that she could be _dead_. Crepsley could have slashed her throat open and she could be bleeding out on the carpet like a fallen deer, weak and still feebly kicking with wide Doe eyes.

Or maybe Crepsley was vanquished and sent back into the primordial soup and Steph was simply reeling from the shock. Maybe he was turning to dust, or maybe he was liquefying like the Wicked Witch of the West and she was watching the strangeness. Or maybe he was the one bleeding out onto the floor and she was trying to think of a way to hide the evidence. Perhaps she was getting ready to tuck him under the floorboards of the theater where his body would decay into quiet nothingness, sponged back into the earth, and turned into mushrooms or something.

Or maybe I could do that. Let myself turn to rot like that crusty mildew that clings to the sides of basement walls. Maybe I'll just stay in here until I suffocate. Much better than facing the bloodthirsty beast outside, or worse the possibility of the factual evidence that proved my Athena was in fact a killer, or even possibly a mon-

The lid opened.

* * *

I woke up on Kempton Street. About twenty minutes away from home. Would have been drowned in the twilight if not for the lone streetlight shining above my head. Blinked at it, owlishly. I have no idea how I've gotten there. Just feel dizzy and sick. Rolled into a crouch on the pavement instead and tried to orient myself. Ruffled through the memories but couldn't find any which were specific to leaving the building.

Just that room. _That room._

Grabbed my throat, but found no puncture marks. Nor were there any lacerations anywhere else. I wasn't sore, not between my legs, so I couldn't have been raped-

And it's that thought which produces tears. Not sure if I cried with relief or fear. It was also that thought which made me realize the danger of just sitting here, on the street, in the early hours of the morning was.

With numb legs, I staggered home.

* * *

Steph didn't come back to the apartment, which had been the plan.

She didn't come to school either. Two hours in I realized she may have never went home. I never saw her leave. Six hours passed horribly.

Bell rang.

A ten-minute sprint later, there was the house. Two stories and tan colored with black shutters, it crouched behind perfectly square cut hedges. An impeccable lush green lawn rolled right up to the white picked fence. From the gate, a path of cobblestones lead to the front door made of a stained oak. The knocker consisted of a lion's head. It was more for show because they had an electric doorbell.

There was also a green mountain bike on the front porch. Instantly, I relaxed. Steph hated cars and preferred to bike everywhere because it was better for the environment. She'd ridden it to the theater; the fact that it was here meant she had come home safely.

I pulled the latch to the gate, but then noticed something was amiss.

A silver Impala was parked in the driveway, in front of the two-car garage which complimented the house.

It was Mr. Lynch's car.

I stared at it.

He wasn't supposed to be home from work yet. Of course, he could have finished work early. He was the first selectmen. Didn't they make their own rules? Or maybe he forgot something and came back for it. Or maybe Steph was really sick and he stayed home to make sure she was all right.

_Well, he can't really keep his hands to himself…_

Stood there for a long time.

Didn't have a clue what to do. One voice suggested running for another adult and describing the situation. Another contradicted that this would only waste time: I had no empirical evidence, just rumor. The first stated this would be good enough for one of the female teachers. The second snarled school was out and most of the staff would probably be gone. It would also take twenty minutes to get back, then God knew how long to convince them something was wrong. More time would pass before said adult did something.

While walking in might stop whatever might be taking place.

Like I said; stood there for a _long_ time.

Finally opened the gate. At the same time the front door opened. Mr. Lynch emerged. He was dressed in the usual suit, shoes, and tie. Hair slicked back, completely in place. He was whistling and twirling his keys around on his left hand. Took two steps out onto the stoop and then noticed me.

Flashed a large good-humored smile.

"Well, hello kiddo." He chirped.

Suddenly, all I wanted to do was slaughter him.

But that was impossible. I did not have the physical strength to over take him, not even if I took him by surprise. I'd lose, and I still feared him. Also, he was Stephanie's _father_. For some reason, killing _her father_ seemed very wrong. Despite how he was hurting her, he was still _her father_ and therefore perhaps a treasured person. Even when hated, children loved their parents. That's what the books said.

I won't know. My parents died when I was four. But there was Tally. Even when I hated my uncle, I had loved him.

So I didn't say anything. Didn't do anything. _Yet_. Yet was the key word. Killing may have been wrong, but reporting him to the authorities-that did not require life and still included punishment. Having made the decision, my head gave a mechanical jerk. It might have been a nod. Couldn't be normal despite the resolution. Some things can never be unlearned. The urge for violence still persisted. Stood frozen on the path. Couldn't come any closer.

He noticed. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly and a wrinkle appeared on his brow: puzzled. The keys stopped swinging in circles. Uncertainty crept in to his gaze like mold. If this persisted, he'd figure it out. If he figured it out, he might prepare a counter attack before I could even make my move-

"I'm bringing Steph her sick work." I croaked. "I mean-the work we did today. Because she was sick. Sick work."

The smile jumped back. Not as bright as before, but more grounded. He always made me nervous. Everybody does. He was well aware of this. It was the usual stuttering.

"Ah. Thank you. It's refreshing to know that Stephanie has such a good friend." He smiled. With his teeth. Somehow, the gesture needed to be repeated. Settled for a closed there-and-gone again smile. Avoided his eyes as usual. With that, he nodded, left the door unlocked, and turned towards the car. Just like that, I was over looked.

Waited an extra second to let him get a head start to the car. Then carefully, with measured steps, crept into the house. Shut the door softly behind me and waited for the car engine to both start and ebb away.

Then I bolted up the stairs and into Steph's room.

She wasn't there.

Back tracked, looking into each of the bedrooms on the second floor. Empty. All of them. Even checked the coat closet to no avail. Finally, noticed the bathroom door was closed. Stood in front of it, but wasn't caught in such a perpetual state of fear. Pushed it open.

Steph was sitting on the toilet seat cover. The left side of her face was still swollen, red not purple yet. The left sleeve of her blouse was torn, exposing a bare shoulder with no bra strap. Her jeans were gone. She was sitting in lavender panties.

She didn't look up, but continued to stare at the tiled floor.

I will never forget that look.

* * *

"Come stay at my place."

After relocating to Steph's bedroom, with the door firmly closed, the blonde took up a position near the open window, smoking a cigarette. The window happened to be furthest away from the bed. I noticed how she skirted away from it upon entrance. We both stayed away from it. Again, she shot another hard questioning look at me. It asked why _I_ was crying. She wasn't and she was the victim here. In her mind, I had done nothing wrong; there was nothing I could have done. Why did I feel bad?

Guilt.

I could have come in and interrupted it. Whatever it had been, could only imagine…

She retorted, "No. It's better if I stay here."

"Please? You won't be intruding. My place is small, but it's comfortable. I can move all my paintings out of the way-"

"Trust me. It's better if I stay here." Steph replied, softly. Won't look at me.

"I'm serious. If you stay tonight, I'll give you the bed and I'll sleep on the floor. Tomorrow morning I'll skip class and go get an air mattress-"

Steph exploded.

"LISTEN TO WHAT I'M SAYING: I. AM. STAYING. HERE."

Wasn't ready for the roar. Curled up under the hot glare like a burnt leaf. Steph kept her battle visage for another few moments, then settled back into her apathetic look. Now that it was safer, I whispered,

"Why?"

Except I knew why. He must be a treasured person. Special. Kin is always special. Even if they hate you. Even when they work to destroy you, when they try to turn you into a scapegoat, they are still of value. Kin is always special. Undeniable. That is how powerful blood is.

"I have my reasons." She replied, confirming my fears, "I'm not stupid. It won't be for much longer, but there are things I have to do here first." Then added after a thoughtful pause,

"Are you mad I left you?"

Spinning around in so many confused circles. Looked at her, shocked.

"Left? You didn't leave. You went to get help. You weren't strong enough. Needed reinforcements. The monster would have killed you."

Except her shoulder's stiffened. Her face tucked into her arms to hide. What was that? Guilt? Or…?

_No_. She won't. She really won't. She _didn't _leave me. She wouldn't leave me. It was impossible. Fought the sinking suspicion, the cruel reality of the situation tooth and nail. She would never _ever_ leave me like that. Never.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" she asked in a whisper.

"No. Never." But that wasn't enough. The silence demanded more. As usual, I could only think of the bizarre.

"The day you're a monster is the day Lovecraft's Nyarlathotep appears in a maid outfit." I paused, suddenly thoughtful.

"How cumbersome do you think it would be to hold a feather duster with tentacles?"

This got a snort. I waited, tried to hold out. Couldn't, and giggled at my own lame stupid joke like a moron. Then Steph joined in and it no longer mattered. We cackled like a couple of witches. I was happy then. I was happy. She looked at me, blue eyes bright, and there was no pain. 'Blue Bayou' hummed into my mind.

Then it died when her eyes pierced me.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone. Not about the Cirque and _especially_ not about my father."

_No_. There was no way-

"Please?"

I stared owlishly. Steph never said please. She commanded her own destiny. Told people what she thought. Spoke frankly. Also told people to either get lost or suck it up and deal with it. In elementary school, she used to use fists when words hadn't worked. Now, she was more sophisticated, graceful, yet kind. Cruel to be kind, she understood how to save people. Settling for composed and casual threats in battles; combated vices not people. Quiet orders; she employed harsh staring eyes that could brandish defiance like a saber. She feared nothing.

She never _ever_ said please_._

_

* * *

_

An hour later, normalcy had returned. Walked through the woods in her backyard, far enough so we lost sight of the house. We always had to lose sight of the house. Steph dutifully called me over after she stepped over a fallen maple and discovered a dead crow. As usual, I whipped out my sketchbook and sketched the carcass. I'd done this since I was a kid. Animals move too quickly when alive. Studying corpses allowed for more time to fully record all of the details. Skin, fur, feathers, teeth, it was all very different from flowers and vases; they were interesting to look at.

Except organs. Never organs.

Luckily for me, the crow had hardly been touched. Its black glossy feathers were a delicious challenge. My hand moved quickly, recording the beauty of it.

"Why don't you go down to the police station and ask to see the road kill they collect? Officer Wolf says every two weeks there's always some poor thing that gets hit. You'd get plenty of material from them."

"And expose this level of morbidity? Trust me, they'd never understand."

"_I_ understand it." Steph snorted.

I started at her.

"That's because you're unique."

* * *

Several times, I thought about breaking my promise. Wondered if it would be bad to breech that trust and appeal to an adult. Some adults were dependable, so if I did I'd have to be careful who I picked. I also considered the end result: she would be sent to her Aunt and Uncle's, and therefore removed from the house. It would be breaking her trust. She would never speak to me again. Losing her would be a very painful experience.

Still, I felt like an accomplice.

And then like a murderer when she vanished two days later.

* * *

I heard about it Saturday. Woke up early, pulled out some already prepped canvas, and set up shop near the window. Threw on an oldie but goodie, Crash Test Dummies in the boom box and hummed along. They had been my mother's favorite band.

I assembled my palette. Painting is my catharsis, so all the thorns in my subconscious come out there. After three hours, I pulled back and was unsurprised to find Mr. Crepsley's face staring out from the bottom left hand corner. I scraped him out and painted some more.

An hour later, he filled a quarter of the canvas.

_Damn._

The phone rang. Turned the volume down on '_Afternoons and Coffeespoons_'.

"Hello?"

"Darlene?" a woman's voice asked.

"Darcie." I replied.

"Darcie, sorry," She didn't sound like it. Just anxious, "This is Stephanie's mother. Can you put her on the phone please?"

"Steph isn't here right now."

There was a pause. I think she was trying to figure out if I was lying or not.

"Oh." She said, then, "Well, if you see her, tell her to come home."

The woman hung up.

"Good bye." I replied to the deadline and hung up the receiver.

Went back to painting. Scraped Crepsley out again. Repainted that corner. Went up and down the canvas, trying out colors, trying out shapes. Getting rid of the ones that didn't go together. When the sunlight failed, I flipped the light switch and kept going.

The phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Please tell me Stephanie is there."

Sudden nausea. Shock does that. Especially when your brain speeds ahead and gets an inkling of what happened. What could have happened. It becomes like truth. Truth gets confirmed with facts, like the pure desperation I heard in the voice on the other side of the line.

Replied in the negative, and then felt absolutely horrible when Steph's mother started to sob. When the line went dead again, I hung up, and like a zombie went back to the painting.

Stared at it.

Even abstract, I could still recognize Crepsley. In a huge sea of red, his face had taken over the entire three feet of canvas, framed by thousands of green, purple, and brighter red spiders. He had no expression. His head was simply monumental, just a maze of plans and lines, scars and flesh: expressionless, but with two open wide staring eyes.

Propped the damn thing to facing a corner so I wouldn't have to look at it.

Or maybe so it won't look at me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

**"_Painting is just another way of keeping a diary."-Pablo Picasso (1881 - 1973)_**

Stephanie's disappearance was on the front page Monday morning. That's when the reality of it hit me. Unfolded it numbly and tried to read it, but the words kept blurring. Couldn't focus. Had to sit on the bed and wait for the world to stop tumbling around.

Hard to believe, after a five-year reprieve, I was alone again.

Losing people you care about never gets easier. For some reason, fate wanted me to be alone. Which would have been fine if I didn't have the memories, the laughter, the look of their eyes, or the sound of their voices…

_Promise me you'll live your life to the fullest._

I cut out the article and taped it in a place of honor, next to my parents' photos and the sketch of my uncle.

I remember everyone who leaves.

* * *

"Friday night was the last day you saw her?"

Average height, the officer's uniform accented his muscular build. Brown curly hair with hazel eyes, he wasn't handsome, but not ugly either. The rounded nose, when combined with the slope of his bottom lip, made him look mouse-like. Worse, the fidgety way he took notes reinforced the image. His badge said his name was Richard Tanner.

I hate cops.

"Yes."

"What time?" Tanner asked.

"Around-around seven. We'd spent the day hiking. She had to go home for supper."

"Was she acting strangely? Did she say anything unusual?"

Flashed back to the bathroom: the blank dazed look as she sat, staring off into space in her underwear. _Promise me you won't tell anyone._

"No," I remembered her calm easy going stride as she wove through the maple trees. When she turned around, smiling as she pointed to the dead bird,

"She seemed pretty normal."

"And you came back alone?"

"Yes, around seven thirty."

"Can anyone confirm that? I see you live alone…"

"No one saw me come in. However, there are security cameras around the entrance of the building. I might be on tape."

"I see. We'll check on that. Do you know where she would go?"

I shook my head. I didn't have a clue. But-

"How are-how are her parents holding up…?"

"As well as expected, but they are both very upset," Tanner switched to a pleasant smile, "I'm sure if you wished to visit they would appreciate it."

Stared at him. There was a wild urge to tell him about the bathroom, the look, the purple panties. Or maybe blurt out what I'd heard in the coffin. Say something. Anything. Yet-

_It won't be for much longer._ If she had decided to leave…

Instead, a smile stretched across my face on its own,

"I just might. Th-thank you."

* * *

Nightfall, forced myself to go down to the same old church we'd snuck to only days before. On the edge of town, it was close to the forest. Fair sized, it had a large steeple and two huge oak doors with a stain glass version of the last judgment sitting above. Probably the fiftieth coat of white paint was flaking off the ancient frame. A modest and weed infested parking lot sat next to it.

It was empty. The Cirque's vans were gone.

Standing there, I wondered if the vampire had killed her.

Yet, a strange dark piece of my soul hoped she had somehow managed to change his mind and left with the creature. Considering Steph's odd fascination with the undead and the abuse she suffered from her father, that was the closest I could come to imagining a happy ending for her. Even if she left without a word. It seemed strange, I mean, we were best friends, but-

(_She's dead. Dead. Dead because of you. If the vampire didn't get her then her father did, you bitch_)

but perhaps she was in too much of a rush to say goodbye. Maybe she hated saying goodbye. Maybe this was easier for her.

It was a desperate hope that kept me going. It meant there was a chance we'd meet again.

I was a naïve idiot.

* * *

Susan Tiller died.

Wednesday morning during Calculus, in the seat in front of me Simon Renold leaned over and whispered noisily to Michael Thompson and Danny Felton. He told them Susan was found dead in her bedroom Sunday morning. Apparently, her father came to wake her up for church and found her. The cops came before noon and didn't leave until well after seven o' clock. Simon, living next door, was happy to report that the Tiller family was evacuated from the building. Shortly afterwards, one of those forensic CSI vans pulled into the driveway. When he left this morning, it was still there.

"Do you think she was murdered?" Danny asked.

"Definitely. What else would you need the van for?" Simon snorted.

"Maybe not. They're also used to investigate unusual deaths. She could have snorted rat poison and-"

Mr. Bedford swatted Michael with a thick wad of rolled paper.

"_If I catch you talking like that again, I'm sending you all to the office. You should be ashamed of yourselves_." The math teacher hissed.

By the time Friday rolled around, they were. It was confirmed Remy Branford, one of their friends, had also passed away the night before. People started to talk. Then Brian Northman, probably the quietest boy in our grade, was found Saturday.

Sunday passed without incident.

Then Monday morning, Willowich's paper, _The Falcon_, finally published an article on the three dead teenagers. It included Brian's autopsy report, 'provided by an unnamed source' (which meant it was either Dr. Fletcher, Dr. Moggs, or Dr. Kettleburgh since they were the only ones with access to the medical files besides the police). The document claimed his death was being called suspicious due to the presence of an unknown chemical found in his blood work. The report also concluded the unidentified toxin was injected due to the presence of a needle mark. At the tail end, they also mentioned Stephanie Lynch had gone missing shortly before and hadn't been heard from since.

All gossip pretty much stopped. The subject had turned taboo.

* * *

_His face!_

_ The curves of his cheeks like sand dunes, the most pronounced scar stretched like the Nile River. Between lied a controlled smile, the angular white of his teeth like marble. The lighting on his face was bright, but somehow sinister. A big fat yellow glow gently stroked the skull that was buried beneath the muscle and skin. So many different lines and shapes, curves and planes._

_Not pristine like the pretty boy athletes the Greeks worshiped. _

_Instead, pocked, ripped, and visibly segmented, just like a broken teapot glued meticulously back together: a network of smaller scars that complimented the main Nile stroke. Whole, yet undeniable in its seams and the traumatic history they eluded to._

_Utterly. Unique. _

_The God of all Drawing Models._

_ I gasped in the dark at the same time Steph did. Desperately dove for the sketchbook and pencil in my pocket. Ripped the fabric by accident, but didn't care. Didn't even bother to listen to the voice or watch the act. Tore open the book, poised the pencil, looked up and greedily devoured his face. My pencil moved frantically, but beneath it he lifted-_

Woke up in a sweat. Again.

Wasn't the first time. Nor would it be the last. Psychological punishment, really: just kept reliving the night at of the show and the first appearance of the vampire. The nightmares had been bad, but they started to intensify after Remy's death. Dreamed of nothing else. Wouldn't leave me alone.

It wasn't the worst nightmare in the world, but it was still tiring.

And again, looked shakily out the window. No one was ever there. Couldn't be there, I lived on the fifth floor. Yet some times I heard things. Imagined things. It was irrational. Even my work had taken a twist for the strange: I couldn't stop painting spiders. Spiders have many negative connotations: deceit, possessiveness, malice…

But they also represent patience and creativity.

Didn't want to think about the meaning of spiders. Just wanted it all to go away. Or to blame Crepsley for it. He was excellent scapegoat material.

But that was impossible.

The Cirque had left two weeks ago before any of the murders. None of them could be blamed. The harsh reality was there was a serial killer in town. Steph was probably dead because of me.

Probably. Her words rang in my ears.

_Promise you won't tell anyone._

_

* * *

_

Tuesday night ended up staying out late. Avoided the apartment. Didn't want to go back. Abstained from the painting entirely. Tried drawing instead: resulted in forty pages completely packed with spiders.

So instead, I ate at the Richie's Diner and tried to juggle cosines and tangents across a binder page. It seemed pointless. I pulled out my English book. That helped but barely. Only fell out of reality for about twenty minutes. Eventually, the evening chased me out.

Making for home, I usually cut through the park, but Castle Road was better lit. It added about fifteen minutes, but three of my classmates were dead and my best friend was officially missing. Now was not the time for unneeded risks, even if I was questioning the worth of my life. Hadn't reached a decision on it.

Unavoidable risks, however, are different than unneeded ones.

The town wasn't that big, but there were plenty of back alleys. Castle Road had about twelve branching out into darkness along the way to the apartment. Generally safe during daylight and nights with full moons but…

There was a sound.

I stopped and twisted my head right, sharply, into one of the alleys. It was too dark to see in there. There was the smell of cigar smoke. Listened hard, but the noise didn't repeat. Ears cocked, tried to pierce the darkness despite how fruitless it was. Won't be able to see anything. A new moon was out tonight and the glow didn't stretch far enough from the streetlights.

That was a halfhearted argument. Didn't buy it. Stared instead trying to pierce the pitch-black murk, looking around, trying to figure it out. Felt like our primitive ancestors, trying to tentatively explore the inside of a cave, hoping not to find a mountain lion or a bear lurking within.

Couldn't make out any predators. Or any victims.

Nor was I dumb enough to walk in there. Yes, my life may currently have been a wreck, but I was still fond of it. This didn't surprise me. The selfishness of human nature was an extremely familiar concept. So I threw my left foot out instead, and continued a faster trot up the sidewalk. There was an urge to look back, but it went ignored. Start of paranoia. Start of irrational fears. Fears that make you start to hear things.

"…_Sooomedaaay I'll have-a disappearing hairline_." I sang in low whisper,

"_Sooomedaaay I'll wear-pajamas in the daytime."_

My pace went a notch faster. I had about twenty yards before I reached the apartment. Not that I really needed to pay attention to that. There was no danger.

Forced myself not to look back.

"_Aaaafteeernoooons, will be measured out, measured out, measured with-Cooofffeeesppoons. And T.S. Eliot."_

Suddenly felt watched. Walked just a bit faster. Couldn't run. Would _not_ run. I'd feel like a complete idiot running down the street as soon as I got in the damn building. Worse, someone who knew me would probably see and find the whole thing endlessly amusing. It would also be completely succumbing to imagination. Mine was unruly, but _still_-

"_Aaaafteeernoooons, will be measured out-measured out, measured with-Cooofffeeesppoons. And T.S. Eliot."_

Imagination: like the sound of scraping against brick _above_ your head. And the rumbling bits of stone hitting the pavement. The song suddenly stopped. Sounds like that were completely irrational. Nobody could scale a _wall-_

I ran.

* * *

Somehow managed to scale the stairs, two at a time. Keys jingled as loud as goddamn church bells despite the heavy breathing. Expected hands to grab me, now that I was so close to the finish.

Never happened. Instead, I rushed into my apartment and quickly snapped the dead bolt shut. It was the most beautiful noise I ever heard. Savored it, or tried to. I was still breathing too hard. Tore my shoes, bag, and coat off and threw them onto the floor. Didn't give a damn. I lived alone. I'd pick it up later.

Groped blindly for the light switch. Found it and flipped.

_Click._

At the corner of my room, harsh crimson bled into life. It wasn't supposed to be there. Thought it was one of the paintings. Focused and didn't find paint and canvas. Found a human shape instead, occupying one of my chairs. The face didn't look up. It was a very familiar face. A human looking face: the majestic mask with the long stretching scar.

_Crepsley_.

Froze like a deer. _Had_ to be hallucinating.

"Good morning, Miss Smalls." He said. Still didn't look up. In his hands, he was flipping through one of my sketchbooks. One quick flick around, but there was no sign of Steph. He was alone-

I flew back for the door.

He stood directly in front of it.

My hand still reached for the knob-about stomach level for him. Took forever to send the signal from my brain to my hand to wrench it back. Too long. He caught it easily, and swung me into the wall. Bye-bye breath. He gripped my throat to limit the amount that could seep back in. Also lifted me above his head, two feet off the floor. Could have killed me right there. Could have also killed me during the two minute long lull, or before I even opened the door.

Too much adrenaline and fear were surging to really think about this.

"Where is she?"

Still couldn't really breathe. Tried to kick him, but he dodged effortlessly. Frantically started banging against the wall with my heels instead. The trick was to get him unpin me. He did, taking two casual steps backward and proved the folly of this plan. Suspended, the entire weight of by body was hanging by his grip on my throat.

Now couldn't breathe at all. Not even when I grabbed his arm and tried to lift myself. Squirmed, choking. The vampire let me dangle there for about thirty agonizing seconds, watching apathetically. Just to underline both how strong he was and how stupid it would be to resist. The predator carried a visage of utter composure.

When my vision started to gray out, he dropped me.

Couldn't save myself. Landed on the floor with a loud _thud_. There was pain, but the agony of my throat opening back up was much worse. Took forever to get enough air back. He stood over me, a red tower.

"Where is she?" He asked again.

Didn't reply. One of my worst nightmares had just come true: I was going to be killed. Felt oddly calm about it. Maybe this was shock? Stayed mute. It might be better this way. I was alone so-

The question finally seeped in: _Where is she?_

A huge surge of hope hit, then twisted into sharp metallic tasting fear. STEPH WAS ALIVE! _He's trying to kill Steph-!_

He grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled. Came up like a hooked fish. There was no escape. Pitiful. However, Steph was alive! Alive. I may not have known anything of value, but still I won't talk. That way, there would be no hint of where she might have gone. She would be free. She was alive. Free.

Desperately hoped I wouldn't talk. Yet, as Crepsley twirled me around like a rag doll and lifted me back in the air that once again produced the acid burn in my throat, I understood reality. True bravery and unyielding strength were wonderful traits found in heroes.

Most often found in _literary_ heroes. I didn't kid myself. I was no hero. There-

"Where is she?Where is my spider?_"_

Stared at him owlishly.

"_Spider?"_ I croaked.

He glared. Hard to concentrate with the lack of air. His words were distorted anyway, muffled: something like 'feigning ignorance will not work'. Tears were already starting to leak out from the corners of my eyes. Despite this, still shot a blurred look at my paintings. Or where my paintings had been. The room was completely trashed and the window was open. Details get lost when it comes to an ambush. Squeezed my throat harder. Desperation? Interrogation? Spi-?

Vision grayed out-

_-and was replaced by the stage, the showy red clothes, the crop of red hair, the cage being lifted beneath that magnificent visage,_

"_But some are deadly! I have one such spider. Her name is…"_

_I have one such spider. _

_Spider._

_ Spider. _

_ Spider_

_ Spider. _

_ Spider._

_Dropped into a the cold black hole of red rock that would have felt home on Mars. Maybe that's where it was; would explain the lack of air. Writhed like a worm in the twisting twirling vacuum. A high pitched scream whistled. Bright color, a raging inferno twisted into lethal molding maroon. Blood twisted into black with death-lethal carnage. Sprouted eight creepy curvy legs, blinked with illuminated eyes-_

"…_Madam Octa_."

_Madam Octa sprouted green and purple tufts along her ash soot body_. _Smelled of charcoal and burning meat. A man hung in the dark, his stomach slopped onto the floor along with his intestines, pooled like party streamers. Inside the hole in his torso, Madam Octa stared from the inside of her tiny cage, content with stillness and silence, waiting for the prey of passerbies, maybe even the flies drifting around the corpse, if she were lucky, if she were oh so lucky. . That onyx body turned translucent-a black smoke-lifted and the air came like a kamikaze-_

_-_and I drank it down like a drowning victim. Coughed hard with a hack, yet drank more of it down greedily, shaking all over. The wood floor was hard but cool on the cheek. _Reality_. Better than the other place. Also good and tasty to the fingers. _Wonderful._ Life was wonderful. Tried to find purchase-crawl away-

"You disgust me."

Ah. Red devil was still in the room. Desperation for escape intensified.

"I do not know where you hid her, but I will find her eventually. I merely wished to attain her before the police did."

Had to get away. Like a child, stared longingly under the bed. Gazed at the hidden personal effects under there, kept company by large dust bunnies. Hiding there would be useless.

"They know about you. They lie in wait below. I have considered letting them have you, but I suspect they will not be able to give you want you deserve."

Had to get away. Was gonna die. Was gonna-

"I should have killed you and that other monster when I had the chance."

Froze. Other monster. _You are a monster. You are a monster. Monster. Monster. _Underneath the bed sat the letterbox. My precious things. Remembered my mother's hairbrush, my father's horn rimmed glasses, a family photo album, my uncle's kn-

The world suddenly went still. I couldn't be that much of an idiot could I?

"However, it is a mistake I can correct."

Time! Out of time! Needed time. Needed-!

"Nuh-No."

"No?" the red devil asked innocently.

"Didn't. _Didn't. Never._" Never was. Never was a monster. Stephanie Lynch could never be a monster. If anyone was monstrous, it was me. Born a monster. Segmented and isolated like a monster. Loving the dark like a monster. Entertaining maiming-even killing like a monster-

_Promise me you'll live life to the fullest._

But desperate times, desperate measures.

Felt his foot nudge under my chest, flipped me onto my back with one swift motion. Finally, had to stare directly at his face. Had to absorb the utter contempt.

_Frightening_.

"You expect me to believe that?"

But my hand was two inches closer to the dark underneath the bed. Passed without notice. A foot. A whole foot. Impossible. Had to-

"Didn't."

His eyes narrowed, then he sighed, exasperated. Suddenly, the vampire went from standing to crouching faster than I could blink. Flinched hard, my fingers dove and snatched the handle. Bone, timber wolves carved into it. But the blade was made of steel. Tally had loved making knives. It had been a strange hobby, but then he'd been an equally strange man.

_Close_ now. Too close. Instantly regretted not making my move. Damn stutter! Thankfully, he ignored the quiver, too indignant. His eyes pierced,

"Then let us test your blood. Blood cannot lie."

Doomed. But maybe not doomed. Maybe just enough of a distraction to make it. With that lightning fast movement, I would have failed if I had tried stabbing him before. Failure really wasn't an option at this point. So I gambled.

"F-fine." Waited for the bite.

Instead, he said, "Hold out your hand."

Surprise nearly made me pull my right hand out from under the bed. Stupidity is fatal. Instead, remembered, and offered my left, palm up. Clasped the ivory harder. When he moved, I was going to sw-

Fucked it up.

Pain, like a paper cut, suddenly stung. Wasn't ready. Shouted, startled, and forgot to calculate the angle. Also forgot about the damn sheath. My arm flew up underneath and the dull point of the still enclosed weapon bounced harmlessly off the bottom the mattress. The jarring motion and the sweat that had built in my palm also knocked the blade-my only hope-out of my hands with an explosive sound.

_PLUNK._

The vampire had his finger in his mouth when his eyes darted. That's me, the class A fuck up. Did the only thing I could think of.

"CHARNA'S GUTS!"

* * *

BookDragon: Thought it would be appropriate to reference Crash Test Dummies "Afternoons and Coffeespoons". The song is basically about a man with terminal lung cancer who is denying the fact that he's going to die soon. I thought Darcie's mind set paralleled when she realized she was being stalked.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**"_Some have been thought brave because they were afraid to run away."-Thomas Fuller (1608 - 1661)_**

Once, I fell into a river when I was seven. One used to run behind Tally's house. Didn't go swimming again until next summer. For a half mile the current carried me, bobbing up and down just trying to breathe, until a low hanging branch on a fallen oak tree had caught on the green windbreaker I had been wearing. It was after dusk by the time I crawled my way out like a drowned rat. I'd been too drained to even attempt walking home. It only took an hour for Tally to find me, sprawled on the bank in the dead cracking leaves.

Despite the stricken look on his face, he had managed a smile, and said,

"You have the luck of the gods."

* * *

"CHARNA'S GUTS!" I bellowed.

The words didn't matter. I just needed to be as loud as possible. Sudden and loud sounds disorient people. That's partly how stun grenades work. No idea if it would work on vampires. However, if they had keener ears than humans, then it would probably be more effective.

He paused. Just long enough for my foot to collide with his nose.

Pure luck. God, gods: whatever entity/entities living upstairs still seemed to like me. Not that I was thinking about that at the time. Too busy thrashing around wildly, howling. He grabbed his face; the lucky shot bought me about two seconds, which I used to dart my hand back beneath the bed.

Fingertips just kissed the hilt.

Then an iron grip clasped my ankle and wrenched. Crepsley had recovered. Worse, the floor was hardwood so there was little resistance. Sailed across the floor and out of reach. Bye-bye weapon. Twirled around desperately. Caught a flicker of blood on his upper lip, above his gritted teeth. Then swung the other leg. Howled like a wolf. Managed to hit him in the chest.

Didn't do much. He was like stone.

He caught that ankle too in an iron grip. Kept kicking anyway. Threw my arms around. Growled hard, chest vibrating. The vampire struggled to get a better hold. Couldn't get to my throat because of the tangle of limbs. That bought me another five seconds. Kept shouting despite how much air it required.

"Stop-" He growled. Then he snarled viciously after I failed to bite him. Tried to land another kick, this time aiming for his groin. Failed again, though only barely; managed to strike his thigh. His face twisted with anger more than pain. He finally seized one arm and squeezed. The bone groaned. No way. I was already tiring out. There was no way-

Pounding suddenly came from the door.

"Could you keep it down for Christ's sakes!" a voice suddenly barked from the hallway. Couldn't ascertain if it was male or female. Didn't matter. Even the acid burn in my throat didn't matter. Screamed at the top of my lungs,

"HELP! HE'S GONNA KILL ME!"

Then he was gone.

Swung at empty air. Nothing. The vampire was gone. The door continued to strain under some vicious pounding-more forceful this time. The wood groaned. A female voice squawked, much further away. It sounded like it from a different dimension. A raging and clearly male voice answered it, bellowed outside.

"Call the police!"

And the vampire was still gone. Trembling all over, adrenaline rush, managed to sit up. Wasn't up in time to open the door. The lock finally gave with a crunch and it swung open, banged into the wall.

Then a man, late thirties, poured into the room. His hair was graying at the edges, but his face was fox-like, eyes alert. Took a two second look, his brain digested the scene. Looked for the perpetrator and found no one. Loped quickly over to the bathroom and threw that open, searching. Opened both linen closets and tore them apart. Finally, checked the window. It was open. He leaned out. When he found nothing, he looked back confused.

Then I knew I was safe.

* * *

His name was Fredrick Dean, but-call-me-Freddy. He was an accountant that lived in the apartment under mine. Divorced, but he had the right to visit his two little boys, one ten years old, and the other seven, twice a week. Their names were David and Spencer. David was a soccer fanatic and Spencer loved to fly toy airplanes.

After failing to get my name, he talked my ear off about his sons in soothing tones, holding my hands until the police got there. It was one of the oddest events of my life only because it as so _normal. Normal, _yet _alien_. Suddenly, out of the blue, this complete stranger felt the need to bequeath his entire life-his normal, charming, yet dented and damaged life-in an attempt to rope me back into mine. He encouraged me with personal questions, but I shook my head. No, no, no. Not the time to recount lethal fires, eccentric uncles, or missing best friends. Took it in stride, simply squeezed my fingers in an effort to comfort.

Later, when things proceeded to splinter more and more out of control, I'd remember Freddy. I'd remember his family. I'd wonder if Spencer still loved to fly his airplanes. Sometimes I'd fantasize that Freddy made up with his wife and the four of them became a happy family again, and proceeded to do all those wonderful things families do. I'd remember Freddy's fox-like face fondly and desperately hope at the very lest that he still continued to get to see his kids.

* * *

Officer Braddock and Tanner were the first on the scene. Braddock, blonde and much taller and lanky, walked through my apartment quickly, checking things out. Tanner approached, crouched on the floor with us, and asked if we were injured. Freddy said he was fine. I just shook my head despite the fact my hand was still bleeding. Tanner introduced himself and his partner in one nice soothing tone. Asked what happened. Freddy told his side of the story.

"I heard some banging, but dismissed it. After about five minutes, there was more and then shouting. Then I bolted up the steps. By the time I got the door open, he was gone."

"He?" Braddock asked. Blue eyed, about six foot two. He was done securing the premises. He pulled out a small notepad and pencil.

"Yes. The little lady screamed a man was trying to kill her." Freddy replied.

_The little lady._ Strange.

"Can you describe him?" Tanner asked trying to be soothing. Brunette with hazel eyes. All charming smiles. Without warning, a flash of Steph's father flashed into my mind. I shuddered. The officer saw it, and changed tactics.

"Would you like something to drink, Darcie?"

* * *

Questions. Lots of questions. History repeats itself. I still don't have much confidence in our law enforcement system either.

Did I know him? What did he look like? Did he have any distinguishing marks? What was he wearing? Did he take anything? What was he doing when I entered the room? When did I come up? What happened?

_Promise you won't tell anyone._

Then when that didn't work:

How old are you, Darcie? Where do you go to school? What's your favorite subject? How long I had been I living in the apartment? Where were my parents? Was there anyone, anyone at all I wanted to see? Family? Friends? Who should we call, Darcie? Would you like to stay at the station for the night?

They always use your first name. It's to inspire confidence, reassurance, and trust. By using your first name, they imply that they just want to be good friends with you, or an allay at arms. It was a gimmick that had not changed. Empty, just an excuse to root around for information and meddle. It never stopped being a complete waste of time either.

Then officer De Luca came into the room with a cup of coffee. It was the foam cup kind with a lid. He was De Luca on his badge and number only. When the door opened, Tanner nodded and Braddock looked up cheerfully,

"Long night, Wolf?"

De Luca, Wolf, shrugged. He wasn't as tall as Braddock, maybe five eleven tops. His hair was midnight black and his skin was a dark cracked tan. He had a hook nose and a single stretching scar which bisected his left eyebrow. Smoking a cigar, he put the cup on the table in front of me. Looked-

"Why do they call you Wolf?" That was not a voice. It was frog croak.

The three men immediately turned to attention. Wolf, however, was much more casual than his counterparts. There was worldly experience living there. Tanner and Braddock were still pups, wet behind the ears.

The Italian shrugged the question off like the former.

"Dunno. Maybe because I'm gruff like a wolf."

"I won't call a wolf gruff. They're noble wise creatures. Highly intelligent and honorable." I said huskily. For some reason it felt very important to make that clear.

"You don't say?" Wolf asked. He sounded unconvinced. I licked my lips.

"Yes. I heard once-I think it was in National Geographic-that a wolf pack noticed a drop in a deer population it was feeding from one winter. So they switched to hunting mice and other small game until the deer's numbers went back up."

Hesitated. Cops had failed me before. Yet, tonight I'd escaped with my life. They also happened to be human beings, and therefore would hate monsters. Numbly my tongue flickered on,

"My uncle loved wolves. He was a wolf fanatic. He made me a knife with timber wolves carved into the handle. I had it under the bed. I tried to stab him with it."

Suddenly Braddock's back stiffed. I could almost imagine his ears cocking forward. Wolf kept his composure.

"Who?"

Didn't say. Froze instead. Remembered that crazy map of scars-the Nile River that crawled up the vampire's left cheek. Remembered his red form standing beneath the apex, where the altar would have sat in the old church, cage in hand with the huge spot light on him. Remembered the gasp, the show, the spider, the coffin, Steph's purple panties, the stark white face with his finger in his mouth. The weird way he looked at me when I cussed. The blood on his upper lip. The kiss of bone on my fingers, so close-!

I vomited.

Braddock curled his legs in fast, trying to save his shoes. Tanner was better, and managed not to jump out of his chair. Wolf didn't move. Just waited. When I was done, he weaved around the table, grasped my shoulder, and led me out.

After that, the questions stopped for a while.

Wolf opened the police chief's office, flicked on the light, and simply pointed at the long green couch in the corner.

"Sleep there." Then, as an after thought, he pointed to the small desk about ten feet away, "That's my desk."

Didn't offer any assistance, just walked away. Lone Wolf. Stood and watched as he pulled out the wheelie chair and settled himself behind the signified desk. Pulled out a manila envelope and started flicking through papers. Didn't bother to make sure I went into the office. It was nice not to be watched. Almost felt like an adult again. Nor did it look like he was going anywhere; so the childish inner voice that cried not to be left alone seemed secure.

So, did as I was told.

* * *

Dreamt of Steph. She was dead in the woods. Her chest was open, ribs exposed, stomach missing. Exchanged for a cage. A colony of Madam Octa spiders had woven webs in the empty cavity. Egg sacks had replaced her eyes. The babies started to hatch and crawl out.

_In Death May You Be Triumphant. _

Woke up in tears.

Also found the office still empty. Someone had shut the door I had been careful to leave ajar. Ripped it open and was relieved to find the Italian at his desk. He was one of only three. The fluorescent lights were still on, but somehow the space had become darker, heavier.

Then, I realized it wasn't the lights but the officers themselves.

Debated, but ended up approaching Wolf. He looked up. It was still uncaring on the surface, but like an under painting there lied withering rage.

"Melvin Thomas." He replied, cigar wagging.

That was the only explanation needed. Melvin Thomas was the quarter back for the Falcons. Taller ginger haired, he had piercing brown eyes, and a laugh that brightened rooms. Renaissance man: good grades, good athlete, popular. His personality had burned like a bonfire: he'd known no limits. Had a throw that made the entire town's spirit soar.

No more.

The killer finally ripped out Willowwich's heart.

* * *

Mr. Lynch came to visit me at the station.

Had to be the police's doing. They'd probably exhausted the smattering of uncles, aunts, and cousins. Going to them had been stupid. They hated me. I was blood, but I wasn't dead or dying blood. If my life were still in peril, if I had been gravely wounded or ill, they might have come. But I wasn't.

As for the police, maybe they figured since Mr. Lynch was the father of my best friend that was the closest they were going to get to kin.

They were gravely mistaken.

The psychologist was trying to quiz me. Tall, black haired, with gray eyes. Calm soothing questions, circling around school life and my work. I remembered this. There was no point in replying. Gave empty compliments in an attempt to get a response. Didn't buy it. He gave up after two hours.

Then Lynch came into the room.

Didn't recognize him at first. Somehow the color had been sucked out of him. His complexion was paler, waxy. Cheek bones more pronounced, his blue eyes sunk into their sockets. His clothes were baggy. He had lost a substantial amount of weight.

Like I said: Kin, the blood of your blood, is special.

"Kiddo! How have you been?" He tried. His voice wasn't as baritone anymore. It was cracked and dried, nothing more than a husk. Ruined. Not as bad as my voice, but it was still ruined.

The empire had crumpled.

Didn't feel any satisfaction. Felt pity. The first loss is always the hardest. Narrows your world. Makes you question it. Mr. Lynch's parents must still be alive. He looked terrible. Then again, the loss of a child is much more terrible-

_Worse than losing a lover? _A voice asked. Struck hard. Worse, he chose that time to try for a pleasant grin. Lips uncurled like a curtain, revealing his teeth. Thought it Coyote like. Had he fallen so far as to forget how to smile convincingly or was it because I just knew of the existence of his other face?

Didn't matter.

Before he could sit down, I stood up. Watched the man go from sheepish to startled. The look widened when I asked, coldly,

"Did you kill her?"

"Nuh-no. I would never-why would you-?"

"You raped her." The man went completely still, horror leaking onto his already withered face. The pain was delicious. The tables had turned: he was now at my disposal. No doubt the psychologist was listening from the next room. The accusation would be enough. If Lynch decided I needed to vanish, there would at least be one witness. Even if the selectman paid the gray-eyed man off, blackmail could still make him suffer for a number of years. However, was this an adequate punishment? I flashed my teeth, not sure if I was smiling or just bearing them as a weapon:

"You _raped_ your own daughter." I snarled, "Instead of protecting her, you killed her-"

"No!" He burst in a harsh whisper, "no, _I loved her! I-"_

When his voice failed, he started to cry. Openly. He grabbed his mouth as if to shove it back down.

Rage surged. This was _not_ the correct reaction. If he had murdered her, he would have denied it. All of it. He would have tried to shut me up, either bribery or threats. I considered the shaking crying man and his rapid decay. Pathetic. Where was his battle visage? He was suppose to fight back and show his bloodlust. I wanted to see the bloodlust that Steph must have seen in her final moments. I wanted to rip that visage to pieces!

Yet the man continued to sob. There was no way he could have killed Steph.

Grabbed his shoulder firmly, and shoved him into the doorway. It wasn't a very hard, nor confrontational shove. No point. Just needed the extra couple inches of space to get out the door without having to rub against him. Felt tried. I wasn't going to waste another second ducking or cowering to do it.

No, it was stupid to be afraid of Lynch after confronting a real monster.

* * *

Do not ask me why I went back to the condemned church.

Two days passed and the notion would not leave my mind. Instead, it haunted. Laid in close proximity, as the spiders did. At least I knew what that was about now. Still, after sitting in the apartment with a police cruiser keeping watch outside. They thought the serial killer had tried to kill me. They were mistaken. I stared at the Crepsley paintings sitting in the corner. Couldn't paint or draw. No, no, no. Deserved to be punished.

_Promise me you'll live your life to the fullest._

Yet, I still didn't want to die.

* * *

The usual town traffic was missing. Instead of fifty people eating an early dinner at Richie's there were only two old men sitting at the bar. The Seven Eleven was equally empty. Despite it being the second warm day after an eight month long winter, no one enjoyed it. No mothers came pushing strollers. No one walked their dogs. No joggers. No children biked past to frolic in the dying sunlight. There wasn't even a single old man, sitting out on his front porch keeping watch.

It felt like a ghost town. All because five teenagers were dead.

Well, four. Steph was only missing. Except missing equated to dead. Logic is cruel. Even my subconscious believed my friend was dead. Her loss had carved yet another hole in my soul.

_Promise you won't tell anyone._

Then, I thought of the town itself. I thought of Brain, Remy, Susan, and Melvin. Never spoke to any of them, but we had shared the environment and the community. It wasn't five lives gone; the damage was much more wide spread. It was more than twenty, more than hundred.

The loss was eating the soul of Willowwich like cancer.

I think it was pity that compelled me. Pity for the town, pity for myself, and possibly even a chance for redemption.

* * *

The doors of the church had been boarded up since last Wednesday. They'd been open when the Cirque had come to perform, but now apparently with a serial killer on the loose, it was important to check the safety of condemned buildings. Or perhaps Lynch had the entire town searched for his daughter and these little problems had gotten patched up in the process. Didn't really matter. It wasn't that hard to pull two of the boards lose, push the door open, and duck into the crack. With last of afternoon sun, the entrance hall was thick with shadows.

I couldn't think of where else the vampire would be. The church just seemed like the most prudent place because he would have been familiar with it. Before, I might have discounted it: vampires hated crosses. However, he had appeared fully capable and healthy during his performance. Considering this and the fact that he had entered my apartment without an invitation, it appeared that the so-called vampire rules were pretty much bullshit.

However, the best indication that he was in the church was probably the wild pheasant left dead on the side of the road. After drawing a lot of carcasses, you tend to notice abnormalities. For instance, its neck had been snapped and was there was no blood to be found. That seemed as good a sign as any.

Touched the hilt of Tally's knife at my belt for comfort. I'd stolen it from the evidence room. It wasn't as good as a pistol or, even better, a shotgun, but it would do. Followed the gesture by brushing the photo and sketch in my pocket: the dead traveled with me. I walked carefully and ignored how loud everything sounded. It had the same acoustics as a cave. Directly in front were the doors that lead to the nave. Opened it and exposed the hundred rotting pews, and empty apse. The altar had been salvaged long ago. In its absence, a few decrepit folding chairs from the performance remained. There was a smell that suggested mice along with mold growing under the floorboards.

But the light coming from the stained-glass windows was beautiful.

The one to the west was lit up. It depicted the Crucifixion. The vibrant colors, blues, reds, golds, whites, pinks, of such a morbid scene seemed to leak over what had once been polished pews and floor boards. In that iconographic style, Christ appeared sublime. Resigned to his fate.

The image was supposed to be comforting.

Instead, I only felt more unsettled.

Tucked into a pew and waited. Prayed in my head, but didn't bother to beg. Whatever happened, happened. Right.

This did nothing to stop my legs from shaking.

…Then I hinted to the higher power that I'd _greatly _appreciate even the smallest of miracles. You know, whatever He had lying around. Won't be picky.

Nothing actively happened.

The thicken red light of dusky simply twisted the vibrancy of the colors. No longer pure, they turned purple, brown, and red. The interior turned slightly more sinister. Without warning, the memory of my parent's house burning blossomed like a chrysanthemum. Fought it. Won only when a creak pierced nosily into the silence.

Within a second I was standing in the main isle, right hand curled around the hilt. Checked the shadows, but found no one. Didn't mean no one was there, however.

"Come out." I whispered. My voice was still a bit swollen. I was also afraid.

Nothing. Clicked my tongue, then tried again, a fraction louder.

"Come out. I know you're here." I called to the vampire.

Again nothing. Stood shock still, waiting.

This was stupid. This whole idea was stupid. No way it was going to work-what the hell was I risking here? The police had a handle on things. Everything was going to be set straight soon, why take such a stupid damn risk for a bunch of people I didn't know? Why should I stick my neck out for them? _Why-?_

Fredrick Dean, just-call-me-Freddy immediately flickered in my mind's eye. He was followed by Wolf. Then, just to knock the final coffin nail in, Steph stared out with brilliant blue eyes and a there-and-gone-again smile.

"Charna's guts." I hissed. "_Charna's bloody damn_-"

There was another wooden squeak behind me. Twirled around and drew my blade.

"Drop the weapon!"

"Officer Braddock?" I asked. Stared at the blonde man owlishly. Stood about five feet from me, with his gun drawn. He must have followed me from the station. So much for going unnoticed. The fact that officer had his weapon drawn also forced me to reconsider the fact that cops were unreliable.

"Drop the knife and put your hands in the air!" Braddock shouted.

I did with relief. This had been a very stupid idea anyway. If I couldn't figure out when a cop's following me, I had no business even trying to tangle with a genuine monster. After the knife thudded, Braddock didn't holster his pistol. He approached with extreme caution, then with his foot stepped on the handle and kicked it behind him. The blade twirled, then vanished behind the third pew to his left, about three feet in.

Threat removed, yet still he didn't put the gun away.

"Get on the ground, face down."

My knees started to bend, but then stopped.

The vampire was standing behind him.

I had blinked and he was just suddenly _there. _Just the sudden manifestation of red, the scattered scars across his face. His predatory gaze was trained on the back of the officer's head. Braddock looked tense, yet completely unsuspecting. I looked at him, but couldn't speak. Couldn't _breathe._ His expression changed. It started with his eyes, which went still, then his face hardened. Braddock started to turn-

Crepsley casually raised himself to his tippy toes, leaned forward, and exhaled heavily over the officer's shoulder...

And all six feet two inches of Officer Braddock collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**"_Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900)_**

One minute the cop had been standing, the next he'd been falling in on himself as gracefully as the expert demolition of a skyscraper. The pistol fell out of his hands, twirled, but bounced off one of the pews and stopped about a foot away. I stared at the fallen man, more shocked than afraid.

Then horror came like a flood.

"He is not dead. Merely unconscious." The vampire replied, as if reading my mind. My gaze flicked back up. Oh, right, the chief danger was still here. The vampire stood casually, arms curled behind his back like an indulgent professor.

Stared. Didn't buy it.

"Check his pulse if you do not believe me." Crepsley invited.

Stood there, reasoning that one out. After a while, decided I really needed to know if the man was alive. The business at hand depended on it. Took two wary steps forward, crouched, and pressed my fingers to Braddock's neck. His jugular vein throbbed regularly. His breathing was also even and untroubled despite the fact his nose was bleeding. When the officer had fallen he hadn't been able to save his face. The bridge of his nose was crooked: definitely broken. Awkwardly, I tilted his skull gently, just to make sure his airway was open, then pulled my jacket off and used it as a makeshift pillow.

It was only after that was done that I went for Braddock's pistol.

"Are you looking for this?"

The vampire held out the gun, handle dangling between two very long and sharp fingernails. He took the barrel in both hands, bent it, and the tossed the rubbish over his shoulder. Then he smiled, exposing his long teeth. He had no fangs.

"Humans are predictable." Crepsley continued, "Who sent you? The Blood Barons?"

Silence. I gaped like a fish.

He smirked, "Or perhaps you fancy yourself as a vampire hunter? Four humans are dead. I have threatened you. I am vampire. Your conclusion is simple: I must be the perpetrator so you will 'slay' me to gloriously save your little town. So, I ask you, how do you plan to kill me?"

If I hadn't been in this situation-if he hadn't tried to kill me-if he had continued to be merely the God of all Drawing Models, I would have been happy to treat him as I did all other strangers: by ignoring him.

Unfortunately, this strategy wouldn't work.

"I didn't-I-I came to buh-_bargain_."

The vampire stared back for a moment. Something flickered in his eyes. Then he cradled his chin in his hand. Stroked the Nile River scar. Smiled like this was amusing.

"Bargain?" He asked.

"Y-Yes." I waited. He did not ask for an explanation. Instead, he snapped his fingers and one of the rusted chairs behind me suddenly appeared. Managed not to turn around and make sure. Crepsley sat in it, folded his hands, and gave his full-undivided attention.

That was creepy.

Also the stare was a bit too intense_. _Two days ago, that same face had been staring up at me as I strangled. Settled for staring at that one long twist of scar tissue instead. That helped a little. Two weeks ago, it had been the most interesting detail ever to be found on a human face. I was surprised to find it was still this intriguing.

Suddenly, it was like giving an in-class presentation:

"The kill-the killer is using your spider as a muh-murder weapon. That's-That's why you came to my apartment-you thought I had it. If the killer is using it, then he must have-have attended the show. There were about fifty people there if I remember, the night I went, but even-even if-even if the _whole town_ attended, only a few of them would understand how to milk the spider and how to use a needle to inject it. Fewer with the op-_opportunity_ to kill all four kids or the muh-motive to do so..."

Nearly faltered. This would never work. It was some half-assed insane plan based off watching too much Law and Order.

But had to try.

"T-the spider also belonged to you, so that makes you an _expert_. So, you're the only one, besides the killer that as full knowledge on how that weapon can be wielded. Considering that…I think I can…I can figure out who the murder is and therefore who _currently_ has your-your spider s-so you could get it-_her_ back."

No reply. He was still staring, but now stroking that scar furiously. His fingernails were quite long. After a moment, he looked at the ceiling and said, still smiling,

"So you are purposing that in exchange for helping you catch the killer I get my spider back, yes?" I nodded. He continued to consider the curve of the ceiling. After a minute, he muttered,

"That does not seem like much of a bargain."

Lost the scar. Couldn't help myself. He pierced me with a mere glance.

"Think about it. To do more work to regain something that has been stolen from me? That is even more of a loss. Not a good bargain at all. Madam Octa was a commodity. She was useful, but not essential. I do not need her to perform. Also, meddling in human affairs is generally too troublesome. I would also be putting myself in danger, both of physical harm and of discovery… I am sorry, but I will have to decline your offer."

Stared at him, horrified. He couldn't have just said that. _Couldn't_. That was just absurd. He'd stayed behind for two weeks, and _broke_ into my apartment when he thought I had the damn thing. Now suddenly it-_she_ wasn't worth it? It didn't make any sense-!

Yet, he stood up and snapped his fingers. When the chair vanished, he turned and started to walk away. He was actually leaving.

"Wait!" He didn't. He continued to walk with his back to me, broad and deep crimson. Desperation suddenly mingled with a tinge of anger-

"Then-then what-what _do_ you want?"

Two more steps. I couldn't let him-!

"Wait! Please wait! I'll do-!"

_Anything. _

I managed not to say it. Bit down hard enough on my tongue to draw blood. A surge of fear hit like a truck. Anything? _Anything?_ Had I completely lost my mind? Charna's guts!

Worse, he'd stopped half way down the nave. Stood very still. Didn't turn around. Damn it, he was like a shark smelling blood in the water! He was a goddamn _monster._

"On the other hand, there might be something."

I waited for him to elaborate. After two minutes he didn't. Why the hell did I keep falling for this? He was immortal! He had plenty of time! I couldn't ask. If I asked, that would just show how desperate I was. For a stupid town, a stupid idiot town that I wasn't even really a part of!

But it had been Stephanie Lynch's town a soft voice whispered.

_CHARNA'S GUTS!_

"Wh-what is it?" Whatever it was, it was going to be bad. Really bad. It was probably something like 'to drink all your blood'. Suddenly, I froze. Oh _shit_-

It wasn't as bad as that.

"I could use an assistant."

Utter quiet. My ears twitched. Assistant? Like-what-_a secretary_? Suddenly pictured myself in an office environment, following the vampire dressed in a red business suit around at night with an armload of paperwork saying 'Mr. Crepsley your ten o clock as arrived-'

Banished the image. _No_-no, circus performers don't need secretaries. Assistant. He said _assistant._ What the hell did-?

"An assistant who would do chores for me." He elaborated, "An assistant who would be my travel companion and performing aid. Be my eyes and hands during the day. Watch over my coffin while I slept. Wash my laundry. Polish my shoes. Cook my meals. Take care of Madam Octa. In short, cater to my daily needs."

I opened my mouth. There had to be something else.

"That is all I desire." The vampire declared. The tone was final. Nonnegotiable.

I desperately wanted to bang my head against the floor. Knock myself out. THIS WAS CRAZY! Utter madness! Become an assistant _to a vampire?_ As in become a twenty-first century Renfield?

Except it made sense.

I remembered the photos in my pocket. My parents were dead. Tally was dead. My next of kin had pretty much disowned me. My best friend was gone but probably dead…

I had no ties.

But worse, I'd be agreeing to spend the rest of my life in immediate proximity to a creature _that had tried to kill me_. I already had nightmares before without adding the strangulation experience to my plate. At least the ones caused by the murders would-

"Would I have to kill people?" I asked. AH HA! THAT'S IT! THE DEAL BREAKER! Already felt bad enough. Damn that was _close_-

"Vampires don't kill the people they feed on." He said. His tone suggested I was an idiot for not knowing that. Still-

"How?" Regretted it the moment I asked.

He turned back around. _Grinning. _My stomach fell out beneath me as he came, quick-quick, and knelt. He crouched right in front of Braddock, still passed out of the floor. I forgotten the man was there. The officer divided us. Crepsley picked up his arm.

"Shall I demonstrate?"

Crepsley rolled up the sleeve and exposed the man's bare skin. He stuck out his thumb and I noticed the nail was actually quite sharp. Almost scalpel-like. It would-

"WAIT!"

He stopped. Looked at me as if to say '_now_ what?' I have no idea why I stopped him. Maybe because it was doing it against the man's will? Why? Why should I even care? He wasn't awake, it wouldn't-

I offered my forearm. It shook.

"I-If it won't kill me…If meals…" I failed to elaborate the point.

He didn't ask if I was sure. Instead, he gave a long measuring look. Gears turned in that strange brain of his. After a few erratic heartbeats, he grasped my arm and with his thumb and made a half-inch long cut. Pain flared and I flinched. His mouth closed over the wound, not sparing a drop of blood. Sucked on it. Heart continued to bang like a terrified parrot in a cage. Made me dizzy.

Worse, I'd forgotten I was a monster. _Shit_, how had I managed to forget that? In a second he'd come up coughing and spluttering. Any second. _This_ would be the real deal breaker. He'd drop me and leave. The killer would never be found. The bastard would escape, after consuming the soul of Willowwich, he'd escape, and leave nothing but ashes behind. I'd be doomed to watch it happen, watch it with perverse horror just as I was doing now…

Crepsley didn't choke. He continued to drink.

Apparently it wasn't bad enough to make him sick. Or his definitions of monstrosity were completely different from that of a human's…? I started to entertain this plausible theory when déjà vu interrupted, crawling out like a strange yet familiar lizard. Felt like I'd done this before. Which was absolutely ludicrous. This had _never_ happened before, ever. How the _hell_ could it feel like-?

Then I remembered.

When I was eight I'd fallen off my bike and cut my knee open. In the five minutes it took to get back into the house, my left sock went from white to pink and left two bloody stains on the hardwood floor that refused to come off. I got half way up the stairs before Tally descended. He'd heard me coming.

As usual, his reaction had been bizarre. He swiftly clamped his mouth over my knee. Licked it. That had been weird even for me. It was odd enough to forget the pain entirely. He wiped the blood off his lips. Then shock twisted to embarrassment when he beamed a reassuring smile and crowed in a high-pitched voice, like I was still four-years-old,

_Wolf kisses make it all better!_

In present time Crepsley leaned back and wiped his mouth off in a very similar manner. Just like Tally. Stared at him owlishly; it was like history was repeating itself and I was the only one that seemed to notice.

Then the vampire broke the cycle by licking his thumb and smearing it across the cut. Snapped back to reality with the help of pure disgust. _Eww_. However, before I could complain the stinging stopped. A shiny scar formed on my arm.

Holy shit.

"So, do we have a deal?"

Didn't know what he was talking about. Snapped back. Right. Life changing decision. Become a vampire's assistant to save Steph's town.

"One-one more question."

"Yes?" He sounded exasperated. Ignored the tone. Instead summoned a piercing stare. This last question was the most important. I was pretty sure of the answer, but it still needed some kind of confirmation-

"Did you kill my friend? The selectman's daughter?"

He actually looked startled.

Then, "No, I did not."

I considered this answer. Considered the face and managed to bypass the scar. It appeared honest. However, there did exist convincing liars in the world. By nature I was naïve. Vampires probably would have to lie more than most people. Also, they had centuries to become very good at it.

"Are you sure?"

Now he looked offended. "_Yes_."

The anger did it. It was believable enough. Yet…

"…Alright, but I warn you: if I ever-if I ever find out otherwise, I'll have your guts on a platter."

He laughed.

Like it was a joke.

"I'm serious." I whispered. Not good. A strange calmness settled and my voice continued on its own. Fear evaporated and a dark coldness filled its absence. That monster I was talking about-the one he somehow had failed to find-it rose up, opened its eyes, and finally spoke,

"If I ever find out you killed her, I promise you I will find a means to make you suffer _dearly_."

"Such as?" This was still amusing. A human threatening a vampire. Amusing._ What could someone like you possibly do to **me**?  
_

It flashed, opened: the dark shadow of a human shape, hanging upside down. Remembered the smell. The flies. My greatest nightmare ever. It was the worst thing I could think of. Perhaps I should have seen it coming from the platter comment. Pulled it out, handling it as delicately as a blade:

"I will find a way to incapacitate you. Then I will cut you open and take you apart, bit by bit, _piece by piece_. I'll start by cutting out organs that aren't so vital, one of your kidneys to start with, then pieces of your liver. I will be save your eyes for last. Each time I'll sow you back up, wait for you to heal, and then repeat the process. You'll become a living Prometheus. It will take years, maybe even decades, before I finish. _Do you understand me?_"

He wasn't smiling anymore. Actually, it looked like his jaw was trying to drop. People, and apparently vampires, rely too much on appearances. It would have been very comical if not for the small voice in my ear.

It asked if I could actually do that.

Doubt grew, thankfully; if not I would have been afraid. I wasn't so sure, but considering my revulsion to internal organs in general: probably not. However, this didn't matter. I'd already said it. Why not let him think it was true? I needed all the leverage I could get.

"Knowing that, are you still sure you want me as your assistant?"

Crepsley didn't even pause to think about it.

"Yes."

Yes. He was _completely_ out of his mind. Or perhaps a vampire's brain just worked differently. I sighed. There were no other arguments to go through or any other frayed ends to exploit. Worse, the vampire knew it. I saw it in his eyes, the way they turned keen. Expectant. Damn, if only I'd run…

But I didn't.

"Okay." I muttered, "I accept."

"Excellent!" The vampire said and stood up. I followed suit.

"Hold out your hands."

Put my hands up on automatic. Then realized I hadn't questioned why. Paid for it too. Crepsley curled his fingers into claws, his nails extended, and rammed them into the tips of all ten of my fingers faster than a blink.

"OW! What the hell-?" I shouted. Jammed my hands under my armpits. Crepsley ignored me. Instead, he stabbed the pads of his own fingers and drew blood too. Just not as quickly.

"Now, give me your hands."

"Why?"

"Do not stall." He growled.

That would have scared me ten minutes ago. However, I had the luxury of knowing my existence was a bartering chip, and therefore of some value. He wouldn't kill me.

Well, not quickly.

"I'm not doing anything until you give me an explanation."

He narrowed his eyes. I half expected him to step over Braddock and yank my hands out. If he did that, I definitely wouldn't be able to stop him. Waited.

"Very well," He sighed, annoyed, "To become my assistant, you must become a half vampire-"

The world flipped upside down. _Half vampire?_ It was like hitting a brick wall.

"CHARNA'S GUTS! That wasn't part of the deal!" I shouted, recoiling further, "_I was going to give you the rest of my life, not my damn mortality!_"

The vampire paused, staring.

"Vampires are not immortal." Crepsley explained calmly, ignoring the outburst. Or tried for calm. It was getting muddled with something I couldn't identify. I barely spend enough time around humans; of course trying to dissect the expression of a vampire would be much harder! The only difference that was clear was his gaze just lingered more, like I was some strange tropical plant.

"We age only a tenth the regular rate. I would not be stealing your death, just lengthening the span your life-"

"_I don't need to live practically forever to be your bloody damn assistant!_ I can't live that long! The deal was for a seventy to hundred years, an average life span! That's it! Tops! You do not pass Go! _You do not collect two hundred dollars!_"

If the monopoly bit confused him, he didn't show it. He ignored it entirely. Went back to this stern business attitude.

"Then…we _do not_ have a deal?"

"That doesn't seem like much of a bargain!" I hissed, using his own words against him. However, it didn't seem to faze him. He dodged it much more gracefully by just shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands in a helpless fashion. _Damn_ him.

"But that is the only one I offer."

"_Then I refuse!_" I spat.

"Then your killer will go free and another one of your peers will die." Crepsley retorted simply, like that was checkmate. The bastard was even smiling again.

Well, smiling until I laughed in his face,

"Idiot! I didn't do this for _them_. You can't use them as _leverage_. I was never one of them." Charna's guts! I knew this was stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid-!

"Then why did you come?"

Froze. The curiosity in the tone struck like a plucked harp string. Why? I didn't know anymore. I thought it was pity, but clearly not. Or maybe the pity wasn't strong enough? Yet it compelled me to venture out here, possibly to my own damn death! What-?

_If I ever find out you killed her, I promise you I will find a means to make you suffer dearly._

Officer Braddock suddenly groaned on the floor.

Crepsley looked down at him. The cop was starting to come around. His eyelids fluttered. Urgency swelled in my chest. I had to-!

But the isle was empty. Somehow the empty space sucked the vitality out of the room, twisted everything blue. The light from the stained glass windows had died at some point. Then, passively, realized it had just turned to night. The sun had just gone down.

The vampire had vanished like smoke.

I had failed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**"_Some things gnaw at a man worse than death_." –Kevin Costner, Open Range**

Stood there and realized for the first time I had _empirical_ evidence that I was evil. A selfish cruel monster that didn't deserve to live. I could not sacrifice myself for an entire town, but had to come because of _revenge. _It was no longer a half proved fear. It was a fact now.

I was evil.

Braddock grunted and shifted, rising back into reality. Thought of my knife under the third pew, and considered using it. Wouldn't kill him, just threaten him with it until he threw me in jail. Then I could do something else to force them to keep me behind bars. I'd suffer, but I'd also be kept out of society's eye and from harming other innocent bystanders…

Wouldn't work. It was just a fragmented fantasy. Besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

I knelt next to the man.

"Officer Braddock?"

His blue eyes cracked opened. Looked a lot like Steph's. Hers were Atlantic blue, however, colder and clearer. His came directly from the pacific: hazy and warm with confusion. A note bubbled from his throat and twisted due to the broken passage of his naval cavity. He didn't look like he was in pain yet. That was good.

"Whut happen?"

Suddenly, I saw him. I saw him underneath the crisp blue uniform and the badge. I saw a kid not much older than me-five years at most. He was a kid with a mother that would be worried sick.

"A loose board fell."

He blinked, mind still fuzzy. I have no idea why I lied.

"Yup. You heard a noise, looked up, and it hit you right in the face. You were right, it's extremely dangerous in here. We should leave. Do you feel well enough to move?" That has got to be the worst lie in all of human history.

The confusion intensified. Wrinkled his brow. Lucid cracks formed in his eyes.

"Burd…? No burd."

"No, sir." I insisted, "Try to stay awake this time. You came around once before, but went back to sleep. Can you get up?" I asked again, gently.

Except, it wasn't working. His eyes hardened despite the pain. He was a strong boy. Grounded, his training was seeping back even as the scream of agony must have intensified in his nose. Yup, the police were definitely better than they had been five years ago. There was hope for the human race.

"_No._" He snarled, forcing the word to be crystal clear.

I did not have time for this.

"Officer Braddock, we have to leave. You may have a concussion. Head injuries are strange. You may think your fine, but a blood clot could form and you could die of a brain embolism. I promise I'll answer your questions later, but for right now we need to get you up and to a hospital. Do you understand?"

To illustrate the point, ducked my head and pulled his arm around my neck. The talking bit of this was over. I'd had enough talking to last a lifetime. The cop realized now wasn't the time for an interrogation too. He bore most of his weight on his own. Strong proud lad. This was good. I would not have been able to lift him otherwise. Instead, I just watched to make sure he didn't fall over again. Hovered and held his arm nice and steady. Turned into a guide post.

Everything was fine. Then, half way to the door, he stopped.

I thought he was going to swoon. Braced my shoulders even though it'd be useless if he came crashing down. How was his face? Looked up for weakness but found something worse than dizziness.

Anger.

"Whure es muh gun?"

Froze. Crepsley had tied it into a knot and chucked it. Couldn't tell him that; it would sound like lunacy. Yet, couldn't give it back either. Nor did the story explain the missing firearm. Had to tell or had to keep lying. Catch 22. Damned if I did, damned if I didn't. Charna's guts!

"I don't have it."

His face twisted-

"Mike? What's taking you so long?"

Wolf appeared, carefully trekking into view beneath the archway. Even though it would cause a hell of a lot more trouble, I was happy to see the Italian.

* * *

Wolf insisted Braddock sit in the patrol car at the very least. The blonde officer was spitting with fury. There was no way in hell he was leaving without his weapon. Even with the tissues stuffed up his nose and holding an ice pack to the swollen appendage, the officer was intimidating.

I felt bad. It was embarrassing to be relieved of your weapon, especially by a teenage girl. Braddock had insisted on padding me down himself. When he found I didn't have it, he started cussing. He cuffed and locked me into the back seat. Wolf managed to stop him before he went back into the building, talking him down. That had to be added embarrassment: a superior officer was coddling him.

"Look, no one else has to know. I don't want you to faint again-"

Braddock hissed something extremely slurred. Wondered if he'd lost any teeth on the way down or bit his tongue. Yet, Wolf some how understood. He replied in a growl,

"-right, and I'm going to go back in and find some trace evidence so we can get the bastard. I can't do that if I'm worried about my partner's condition."

'Partner' stuck out. It meant equality. Braddock's rage subsided slightly, just enough to get his grudged approval.

Wolf disappeared back into the building for about ten minutes. It felt a thousand times longer. I'd failed to save Stephanie's town and was stewing with the consequences. Or trying too. Logic was trying to tackle the truth down. Because of me, more people would die; the town itself would die.

Yet, instead of accepting it, this angry, yet familiar voice hissed: _Bullshit! An entire town should not rest on the shoulders of a single individual. Why should I believe that? I had thought vampires didn't exist yet _that_ notion proved false. Why should I believe _this_ shit?_

I didn't. Oddly enough, I didn't. I knew I should of, but I didn't. It might have been my conscious trying to create an environment where I could live with myself, but it was a challenge that opened up other doors.

Like why I thought I couldn't find the killer on my own.

Previous facts had changed. I'd thought my life would end after losing Steph, yet here I was. I'd also escaped confronting a vampire _twice._ I'd even came to _face_ him. _Me_ of all people!

Why didn't I think I could catch this bastard on my own?

Because I didn't have the slightest idea where to look first. I happened to go to one show and the Cirque had performed six or seven at most. If they had fifty people per night, what was that? Three hundred? Three hundred and fifty total? Perhaps a few more or less? I hadn't a clue whom would have gone nor did I have the capacity to find out apart from breaking into every single house in town, looking for the damn spider and that would take months, _years,_ even if I did multiple break-ins every night, then decades if I were caught.

Five kids were dead in _less than a week._

Which was why getting the vampire's help would have been much faster. Even if he didn't remember anyone suspicious or even the faces in the crowd, he at least could have contacted the owner of the circus and asked. He'd collected the tickets right? So me must have seen everybody.

Crepsley also could have helped determine a time frame by telling me _when_ the spider had been stolen. For example, if it was stolen after the fifth or sixth show, then that would greatly reduce the number of suspects. Then-_maybe_- a little snooping could have been done based on histories and locations. Then he could have helped me slip in and out of the premises, undetected, looking for the creature. That would have taken days, maybe a few weeks, but not _years_.

Never mind, no point in wishing for opportunities just flushed down the toilet. There was no time for that. The killer would stop or the police would catch him before that-

The police.

Suddenly, I wondered, how might venom come up on a toxicology report. I'd had biology; was venom like an enzyme or something. A pathologist would probably pick that up. Maybe the police already knew the poison was in fact due to venom from an unknown animal and leaked the autopsy report _on purpose_ to encourage anonymous tips.

I looked up. On the other side of the iron netting, Braddock was sitting in the passenger seat, one hand holding the icepack to his nose.

_Promise me you won't tell anyone._

And yet five kids are dead because of me.

Worse, I still had no intention of telling him, _them,_ anything. Even when Wolf came back with the mangled pistol, I wasn't going to say a word. They'd take me back to the station and more questions would come. I'd wait. Finally, at the first opportunity, I'd go through the files and figure out what we were looking at. I'd-

Wolf came back.

He settled into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut.

"It's a spider." I blurted out.

The Braddock turned around. The leather of the seat cushions squeaked sharply with the twist of his body weight. Didn't bother to look up. The bottom of the cabin was lined with gray carpet. It was completely bare.

"I came to meet the owner. He works for a circus that came into town about two weeks ago. The spider is part of his act. She's extremely poisonous. The killer saw the show and stole it from him. I came to get his help. I failed." _He's a vampire._ Except, admitting that part would be the same as asking to be placed in an insane asylum. Also, it wasn't really relevant to the bare bones of the case.

"Whut ah ooh tulking about?"

"_The murder weapon!_" I hissed, "The paper stated the cause of death was an unknown toxin. It's venom, isn't it? I'm telling you the killer stole the performer's tarantula and using it to kill people! He told me so!"

"Is this so called performer is still in town?" Wolf asked, dryly. He didn't believe a word of it.

"Not anymore. He broke into my apartment because he thought I stole the damn thing. Now look, the spider is big, about the size of a baseball and is covered with red, green, and purple spots. He called her Madam Octa. She's extremely poisonous. He kept her in a cage with a penny whistle."

"If it was stolen from him, why didn't he come to us?"

"I don't know!" I lied, "Maybe he doesn't have a permit or something! He's a _circus performer!_ Probably from over seas. Maybe he doesn't want to get deported. This isn't important. What's important is locating the _spider_."

Wolf turned to Braddock,

"Do you believe any of this shit?"

Braddock was silent for a long time. The chances were he didn't. The tale sounded completely and utterly wild, even without the vampire nonsense. Still, there was no way to modify the lie into anything more believable that would fit the facts. Well, they weren't really lies anyway, just half truths. Half truths were better than lies, but even they counted for nothing when they were unbelievable.

Yet, Braddock turned and looked at Wolf. He discarded the icepack to focus on the senior officer,

"Yus. I Doh. Sumbudy else wus _there_."

Wolf stared at him. It wasn't a particularly hard stare. It searched the cadet's face and found the resolve genuine. The Italian sat for a moment, silently, trying to make up his mind. After a long minute or two, the officer finally sighed.

"Braddock?" Wolf asked, putting his hand into the inner pocket of his coat.

"Yus?"

"I'm sorry about this."

And before the twenty-three year old could even blink, Wolf struck. He slammed the side of his fist into the blonde boy's chest. Or I thought it was his fist. The cadet was too stunned to react at first. Then when he gasped, it sounded wet. One hand jerked towards his torso. At that point, his mind finally realized the trauma that had been inflicted upon him and tried to react. Whether or not it was to fight or run, I don't know. I like to think it was to fight because he turned towards Wolf and through the mesh I could see the knife, _my knife,_ sticking out of his uniform and the redness seeping around it. I could also see the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and the blind stricken stretch of his face and eyes.

Stunned.

For a few feeble seconds, Braddock managed to grab Wolf's arm. He exhaled with a short burst and spatter flew. Some of it landed on the seat between them. A few red drops managed to brush my face. Wolf didn't respond. Nor did he attempt to escape the grip the dying man had on him. Instead, he merely watched Braddock gasp like a carp one last time. Then, finally, his eyes stilled and with a quiet exhale he slumped forward.

He was dead.

* * *

Bookdragon: I took a crack pot shot at how someone might sound if their nose was broken, so if its unbelievable, sorry. I'd greatly appreciate it if someone could correct it. As for Akuma-beast-16's comment on originality: duly noted. I was using that scene as groundwork to launch myself off and try to let my audience know this was an alternate reality fic without having to blurt it out. Apparently I've missed the mark. If I think of anything better, I will probably replace it. Thanks for the constructive criticism, but please leave out the sarcasm next time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

"_**I'd rather get my brains blown out in the wild than wait in terror at the slaughterhouse."-Craig Volk, Northern Exposure, A-Hunting We Will Go, 1991**_

Wolf caught the corpse by the shoulder. More blood dripped onto the seat between them, but he ignored it. Instead, he nudged the blonde blue-eyed boy towards the passenger door and closed his wide eyes for him.

Then, without a word, he turned on engine and started to drive.

I let the car lurch into motion beneath me, numbed. I was confused. The thought of screaming didn't even occur. Nor did I think this was a dream either. Was I hallucinating?

"I didn't want to do that," Wolf replied gruffly, not turning around. The man just gestured with his head. He didn't sound any different. He sounded eerily calm.

"He was a good kid, but he could be one Goddamn stubborn son of a bitch. He'd have never let it go. He also would have turned into one of _them_. It's for his own good really."

I didn't reply. I looked out the window and noted the Church was drifting away. Instead of going back towards the center of town and the police station, however, Wolf drove further east and deeper into the surrounding darkness of the wood which gave Willowwich its name. Soon, the canopy of the trees ate the stars and the darkness further leeched into the cabin of the cruiser. It did not fade, but remained with a cold reality.

"It was for everyone's good. I even leaked the report so everybody would know. I should have realized it could work against the cause…Do you know what happens when society relaxes its laws?" Wolf asked.

Quiet ensued. He didn't appear bothered by it.

"People become nothing but gutter-trash. They think they can get away with pretty much anything. Remy Bradford, for instance. I caught him shoplifting about two years ago. The judge gave him a slap on the wrist. Then, three months ago, Tanner caught the boy breaking and entering into poor Mr. Mansion's house. The man is a seventy-year-old janitor: what cash could he possibly have? Worse, Bradford spent _one_ night in the tank because the old timer didn't want to press charges, the poor fool.

"And Susan Tiller? Sweet girl, except when she was pushing her mother's prescriptions on the street. Reggie's hauled her ass into the station on six different occasions. I've spoken to her mother personally, but honestly that woman just didn't care enough. Now she moons about, pitying herself. Two birds with one stone there."

Wolf reached back into his inner coat pocket. This time he only pulled out a cigar. He peeled the plastic off as he continued to talk. Nestled it into one corner of his mouth. It was like watching a car accident. Looking away or even sticking your fingers in your ears wasn't an option.

"Brian Northman was more pitiable. Good kid, had good manners, but he had an itch for making a quick buck. He was the one that hacked into the school's server last year and rummaged through teacher and student records. He was actually black mailing about twenty different people."

Then he laughed,

"One of them happened to be Tiller! She ended up giving him free Percocet twice a week. I checked his computer the night I snuck in and found he had was about to escalate to demanding sexual favors."

Wolf shook his head. Bit the end of the cigar off and spat it at the floor. Ruffled through his coat and found a lighter. The flame cast an orange glow on his face, making the scar on his eyebrow more shinny. It should have made him grotesque. Demonic. Instead, he was the normal human he'd always appeared to be. With one hand, he gently followed the bend in the yellow line in the road.

"Then, _Melvin Thomas took the fucking cake!_" The officer roared, "That bastard went out drinking last year and hit Mrs. Bishop. Mrs. Bishop! Mother of two little kids, one five and the other three! She didn't die thank God. He hadn't been going fast enough yet when he pulled out of the parking lot. She only broke her arm.

"Good old Mel spent a day in jail before his father made bail. Instead of hauling his ass to court, his father pleaded with Judge Miller. Miller happens to be a football fan, a big supporter of the home team. Mel was charged with about five hundred hours of community serve, of which he'd done perhaps eight total. And last week, I pulled him over for speeding _and he was drunk as a fucking skunk_! Nobody fucking learns _anything_."

Wolf lapsed into a contemplative silence. Took a drag and blew the smoke out. It was a nice brand. The smell wasn't repugnant but sweet. It was familiar. I thought back to Castle Road and the alleyway, trying to sing "Afternoons and Coffeespoons".

_No_. That wasn't possible. This wasn't _possible_-

"For curiosity's sake, I read your file." He finally added.

Felt like a sucker punch. I sat up straight, horrified. There was no escape. Somehow, the dead man in the front seat made me keeping listening. It was like divine punishment.

"House up in flames and the firefighters pulled you out I can understand why the poor son of a bitch that did the paper work labeled it 'accident' instead of 'arson.' You were four. Four-year-olds don't understand consequences. Though, your relatives turned out correct in assuming otherwise. You must have been born evil. Especially when your guardian is found like that."

Sick. Felt sick. Not again. _Please not-!_

"He was one twisted motherfucker, what with all the weapons he made, but even he didn't deserve that. I mean the _brutality_ of it… He'd been completely gutted with his _eyes cut out_. _Christ!_

"Obviously, the murder was regarded as highly suspicious. Neighbors claimed they often saw a lot of dead animals near the property. Never on it, but close by. That day, one of officers found a cat with its neck twisted and drained of blood about an hour after the body was found. Serial killers often start with animals and work their way up, you know. Yet, the psychologist that questioned you found nothing. That's the only reason why you were spared Juvy. He wasn't asking the right questions."

Wolf exhaled. I couldn't smell it anymore. Even in the dark, I could see Braddock's blue tinted face. He looked like he was merely sleeping. My stomach clenched. I wanted to pass out. Instead my brain supplemented an escape with what Crepsley had said:

_They know about you. They lie in wait below._

Freddy had been running his mouth off for a good ten minutes about his life, his kids, before Braddock and Tanner arrived. _Minimum._ Yet Crepsley seemed to suggest the police outside _waiting_ before the attack even commenced. That was the chief reason he thought I'd stolen the arachnid: because I was being tailed. If Tanner and Braddock had been stalked outside the building, they would have been up in less than five minutes.

Instead, it took them ten or maybe twenty to get there.

Why hadn't the cop tailing me intervened?

"Or you were as spectacular as a liar as you are now." Wolf continued, much too loud to ignore now,

"I suspected, but wasn't absolutely sure until you started to talk to the damn _vampire. _Birds of the feather fly together, right? Got the stutter down to a tee. Or is that genuine? Can't fool all of the people, all of the time. Keep yourself separated from the others; typical behavior for a sociopath. You also have to keep everything just so. I also found your trophies under the bed, along with your fetish paintings. Couldn't restrain yourself, could you? Did you both enjoy killing Miss Lynch? Did you progress further and manage to properly cut her up this time? Or did you let him suck her dry?"

I looked up sharply. It was like a glimmer of sunlight. He thought _I_ killed Steph? If _he_ didn't…

Not her father, not the vampire, not the cop: I was out of suspects. Which meant she could still actually be alive. Gone, yet possibly _alive_. Despite being cooped up a corpse and a killer, I suddenly breathed a little easier.

Her escape was worth it.

…it was worth it, wasn't it?

I'd kept my promise and now four kids were dead. If I opened my mouth about the Cirque at Steph's disappearance, then Wolf would not have been able to use the spider, right? Wanted to laugh. This was perfect. She was alive and I would be punished for my failure in judgment. Everything worked out.

Because how sensible is unwavering loyalty when it leads to the deaths of innocents? True, she was all I had. Her presence had kept me pretty much sane. That stupid psychologist had advocated painting as a catharsis, and it had helped, but meeting Steph had kept me _sane_. Now, without her, I was coming apart at the seams again.

How pathetic was that?

Worse, she'd be disgusted at what I had done, keeping my mouth shut and allowing them to die. She'd be disgusted that I had come for her revenge and not for the good of the town. I deserved death…

And yet, Wolf would go on killing if he were not stopped.

Of _course_ I'd think of this. It's the only duty that would spare me from relinquishing my life. Nor did I have a chance in hell of beating him.

_Promise me you'll live your life to the fullest._

I closed my eyes to deny that promise. Living is too damn _hard-_

Just-Call-Me-Freddy's big smiling fox face formed instead.

Wanted to cackle madly. Yet, remembered the warmth of his clasped hands, blindly trying to reassure as his voice lilted, _David was a soccer fanatic and Spencer loved to fly toy airplanes… _

_Spencer is a younger version of his father. I see him standing on the crest of a hill with the controller, antenna fully extended like a fishing rod. He juggles both joysticks and gets a Red Baron to do a back flip in the big blue sky. He smiles with the sun on his shoulders._

The car hits the breaks suddenly. My face collided with the steel mesh hard enough to leave a bruise. That's what I get for daydreaming. Wolf laughed with vicious glee. He sounded like a ten-year-old boy who just discovered how to fry ants with a magnifying glass. Hot pain flushed, and made a false blush. I simply stared at him through the rearview mirror, finally awake. Then I realized I was waiting for something.

Wolf finally parked the car and got out. It was the middle nowhere. He didn't unlock the back doors. Instead, he walked around to the front, unloaded Braddock from the passenger seat, and disappeared into the woods. This confused me at first. Then I figured Wolf is just playing dominoes: he wants to set everything up to his liking. By doing so, he's also writing out his report mentally. I'm not sure what his story was going to be, but I wasn't going to play along.

No, my monster wanted out of its cage. I was too scared to do anything else but let it. I was cuffed and at the mercy of an experienced police officer: a crooked, male, two-hundred pound, cop. On top of that he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, never mind how to wield a baton, use pepper spray, and fire a pistol.

Oh, and he was also _insane_.

My chances of escape were pretty much nil. But I had to tell somebody.

* * *

After eons, Wolf finally came back. He did not unlock the backdoor. Instead, he went around to the back of the car, whistling. Rummaged in the trunk for a while, looking for God knows what. Maybe the tire iron to club me with, considering his pistol was registered. Even with a corpse and knife present, it would be difficult to explain why he had to shoot a teenager if there wasn't the right corroborating evidence. Considering this was Willowwich's first serial killer, it was going to get analyzed to death. Wolf had to be careful.

Anyway, when the officer climbed into the driver's seat his hands were empty. Instead of facing the windshield, he twisted towards me. Once again, I was confronted with a human face. Not a monster, not even a grotesque expression could be found.

Well, not until he smiled with his teeth bared.

Then he plucked the pepper spray off his belt and doused the entire backseat through the mesh. Should have seen that coming, but I hadn't. Couldn't even close my eyes fast enough. The stuff seeped everywhere. _Agony._ A thin scream whistled out as my eyes burned and started to swell shut. Curled up into a ball. Couldn't even breathe.

I forgot to fight when Wolf opened the door. He dragged me out, meek as a kitten, and shoved me into the dirt. Some of it got into my mouth, but I couldn't even taste it. Nor could I see. Pain had twisted everything into a haze. His boot pressed against my ass and shoved me forward. I squawked. He laughed even harder. Then he prodded me with his foot.

"Get up, bitch. I haven't got all night."

Leaving sight of the car would be a serious disadvantage. When I refused to rise, he kicked me hard in the ribs. The world flashed white. Didn't have the capacity to scream. The second strike thankfully missed my stomach and bruised a hip. Managed to roll to my knees and gasp, with one hand clawed into the dirt. He grabbed my hair and forced me up.

Went offensive.

Tried to fling the soil I had collected into his eyes. The plan was to blind him and go for the radio in front seat. Instead I missed by a long shot. The cuffs were too cumbersome and my eyesight was screwed up already. He rewarded the effort with a brisk slap. My left eyeball felt like it was going to explode. Wolf grabbed an arm and pitched me forward. It wasn't enough to knock me off my feet. Teeth gritted, growling twisted back-

Even with blurry vision, it was easy to see the black eye of his revolver. He pointed it at me, not smiling anymore.

"I _will_ shoot you." Wolf hissed.

The threat was genuine. He would. Whether it was now or in a couple of minutes, it really didn't matter. Walking me down was just easier than dragging a second corpse. Still, being alive a few minutes longer was better than being dead: there was still a sliver of a chance of escape.

Yeah. This line of reasoning had _nothing_ to do with being terrified of dying.

He told me to turn around and walk. I did so, as calmly as possible, until he told me to stop. After about a minute, he snarled to march into the woods. This was about creating distance. If he'd had the gun to my head, at least I could have had a minimal chance of landing a hit if I risked a surprise attack. No chance now. He could shoot me at his leisure with amble distance.

The hills rolled in gentle slopes. The underbrush crackled with every step. The forest was quiet. His steps were pretty clear, at least six feet behind me. Cautious bastard. Couldn't see the scenery well with eyes swollen nearly shut, but I could remember the twilight strolls of my childhood and imagine the low light and the smell of the decaying foliage. It was almost too easy to imagine it was Tally behind me, not Wolf, and slip into yet another escapist daydream.

Again, history seems to repeat itself.

All too soon, the vague outline of Braddock's corpse came into view. His face was uncovered, colorless, like a second earth-bound moon. _Now._ Except what was left? At the heart of the trees, the gaps between trunks were too wide to provide adequate coverage. Breathing was much too difficult and wouldn't sustain a run. Yet there was no other opinion-

Disgust hit.

I hated the idea of getting shot in the back. Charna's guts, that was just _pitiful_. After screwing up so many other things, was I really going to do that? Book it like a coward and be taken down like some frightened rabbit?

_Fuck it. _

Turned around instead and squinted at my executioner. The Italian looked strange in the dark, his tan face tinged with blue twilight. One last surprise: he had Madam Octa in his hands. I gawked. With the other hand, he gently set the cage onto the ground. Barely could make out the creature, but she was definitely in there, one subtle dark shape. When the hell…?

He grinned at my expression.

"I had her in the trunk, so I thought I'd bring her along. You may not know it, but the murder weapon is the most vital piece of evidence an officer can find. After that, solving the case is pretty much a synch."

That made sense. Two corpses and the spider, the narrative was clear enough: Braddock caught me with the spider at the church and chased me into the woods. I killed him with my knife. Wolf told me to drop the weapon, then shot me upon my refusal. He probably already wiped his finger prints off the handle. Now all that was left was putting a bullet in my head and maybe discarding the syringe that injected the poison on my person. Even better, he could offer to search my apartment while they were examining the corpses and 'find' it.

In the end, Wolf would be hailed as a hero. Perfect.

Death was staring right at me. Scared, but an idea wouldn't leave me alone. Kept wondering exactly how insane it would be to charge forward and rip the gun from his hands.

…Pretty insane.

But, eh, why the hell not? If I was going to die anyway…There was something even appealing in the notion. Never allowed myself to partake of violence. Now there was little reason to abstain. Better to die with my boots on and pay for what I've done.

_In Death May I Be Triumphant! _

"Any last words?"

"Don't miss."

Wolf looked startled at first. Then he laughed. I tensed ignoring it. Surprised I wasn't shaking. Focused on the weapon, or the hazy blur of it. When he cocked the hammer and loaded a bullet into the chamber, I was going to lunge low. If he hit me in the ten seconds it would take for me to reach him, then fine, goodbye.

But if he _missed_…I'd blitz him, take him at gunpoint back to the police car, and radio for help. Plain and sim-

There was a flash of red.

The gun went off. Bright white, sounded like a firecracker. Felt the bullet bite before even a step could be made. Arm. Screamed. Shouting roared over it. Not mine. The gun went off a second time. Reacted. Didn't fly forward. A dark red wall was in the way. Flew to the ground instead and crawled quickly through the dead leaves. No time to make sense of it.

"TRY AGAIN BASTARD!" Wolf bellowed, then cackled madly.

Found Braddock cold to the touch. Something jangled loud behind me. Ignored it. Couldn't think of him as a person. Just the pincushion my knife was lodged in. Needed it. Grasped the handle and pulled. Endlessly slow. His flesh _clung._ Blood ran freely down onto his crumpled uniform in rivulets. His or mine-?

Fourth shot. Slammed into the ground next to my shoe. Twisted, knife already christened. Heard a different kind of shout. Somebody else. Ally? Heard Wolf cuss, vaguely, before a loud thud hit the ground. Leaves crackling, heavy breathing: struggle. Drew toward it, blinking, trying to see. Walked by and made a blur out to be the spider cage, discarded with the door opened. Thrown-? _Shit. _Something else to worry about. Trying to see. Twisting shapes, yet something silver white on the ground. Trod on it.

**Gun**. Better weapon. Had to-

A dark mass flew at my face. Raised hands to ward off the blow. Didn't I have the right stance to take the hit. Instead, crashed to the ground hard. Knocked out all breathe. Body weight pinned me down. There was agony at my stomach.

Nose to nose with Wolf. That close, I could see his expression. Looked stunned, eyes wide and surprised. Something warm seeped into my clothing, my hands became coated, sticky. Smelt a strong metallic odor. Blood. Groped, blind, at the knife between us. Took a short breath.

Stabbed myself-?

Watched a grimace appear. Then as quickly as it came, his face evened out, disappeared into calm, and his head lolled forward. Dead. Dead? Probed around and found it was the handle jutting into my torso, not the blade.

Holy shit. I was alive.

Started to giggle madly when the spider appeared. Crawled out, one black creeping smudge, and down the slope of Wolf's slumped neck. Froze, horrified, as one of its furry legs tentatively touched my shoulder and paused. _Not fair_. After all that, two encounters with a vampire, one with an insane cop-!

Screw that!

Time slowed down. Stillness seemed to seep out of Wolf and back into the world. The wood was calm and quiet. No sound. Struggled to roll the dead man off to avoid the arachnid. Couldn't. Hands won't come apart due to the cuffs. Impossible to lift him with my arms tucked up to my chest. Impossible to even ward the creature away.

Finally, the spider moved onto my shoulder.

I prayed that it wouldn't bite.

In blind defiance _willed_ it not to bite me damn it.

Then my savior appeared, blurry and unidentifiable in the twilight. Definitely male, his hair was cut short. Wildly hoped it was Freddy. He grabbed Wolf's shoulder, pulled, and rolled the corpse off before brushing the spider off. Then realized it couldn't be Freddy because he wouldn't know I was out here. I took a huge breath and regretted it with a hiss. Fucking ribs. Yet, grateful because the pain meant I wasn't dreaming. I was really alive. Thank God-

"You are endlessly troublesome." A familiar voice said.

Froze. No_._ _No_, I was hallucinating! Please let me be-!

But an equally familiar grip tugged at my bleeding arm. The artistic masterpiece; that scarred visage came forward. It was Crepsley. That fact was undeniable. The Nile River loomed, straight and smooth. Proof positive.

Instead of being killed by a man, I'd just become the feast for a monster.

Fate must _hate_ me.

* * *

Bookdragon: Thanks for the reviews guys. Getting close to the end of part one, so there's one or two chapters left. Then I'll have to take a break and write some more.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_**Any business arrangement that is not profitable to the other person will in the end prove unprofitable for you. The bargain that yields mutual satisfaction is the only one that is apt to be repeated."-B. C. Forbes**_

The vampire grabbed the cuffs and ripped the chain apart like it was made of paper. I gawked at him. Well, squinted. What the HELL was he _doing_ here? Yet before the question could even be asked he tore my sleeve off and prodded my arm.

"The bullet did not pass through. I am going to have to remove it. Please lie still."

I watched, stupidly, as he spread the skin around the round wound taut and plunged the nails of his index finger and thumb into it. Honestly, why did my nerves have to keep firing pain signals? It was pretty useless. Hissing and cursing were pretty useless too. He dug around and finally pulled the slug out. After that, he pinched the hole closed and wiped some spit on it. When he finished, it wasn't completely healed, but it had closed.

"Have you been shot anywhere else?" He asked.

"Why?" _Why are you doing this?_ He paused. Then a grin formed.

"We have not finished bargaining." Bargaining?_ Charna's guts he was_ _terrifying._ But then the open cage flickered in my head.

"Madam Octa-"

"Yes. I know. I used her to my advantage." He relied, tilting his head. I looked over and found the discarded cage again, except this time the spider was back inside with the door open. It took effort to drag my eyes away and see Wolf was lying on his back, timber wolf knife embedded in his torso. I stared.

Crepsley leaned forward,

"I had every intention of killing him myself, but you performed admirably." He nodded to the corpse and at least had the grace to be solemn. _No_. It had been an accident! He'd fallen on me! It wasn't-!

"It seems the nature of our discussion has changed." Crepsley continued, "I have my spider back and your killer is disposed of. However, you still have a problem. With two humans dead, who do you think the blame will be assigned to?"

He waited, expectant.

I thought about it: two dead _police officers_ in less than an hour with similar injuries. Same exact cause of death. Stared at the knife that _now had my bloody fingerprints on it._ Lying here with a bullet wound and what explanation? 'Well, you see, Judge, the killer was using an extremely rare and poisonous spider stolen from a vampire who performs with a traveling circus.' That, with no empirical proof-_no way Crepsley would ever admit to being a vampire or even posing as a human_-and my own history to work against me…?

I was headed for jail or the insane asylum. Take your pick.

"You need to disappear," Crepsley said, "and I have the means to do this. In fact, I am the _only_ one that can ensure your escape. In return…do I need to restate my terms?"

No, he did not. Carefully, I sat up. Ignored the pain and the aches. Took even longer to get to my feet. He stood up too, trying to be calm. It wasn't working. Underneath...there was something. Read kind of like urgency or perhaps eagerness. That scared me. It scared the hell out of me.

Didn't even have to think about the proposal.

"Thank you for all your help."

I'd rather spend the rest of my life in prison than become a half vampire. Someone like me should not live long. Walked a bit awkwardly, but my legs still worked. Had other things to attend to before the proper exit could be made.

Crepsley's face dropped, incredulous.

I ignored him and approached Wolf's corpse. The idea would sink in after a minute. Crouching beside the man's body provided a distraction anyway. I'd killed this man. Thought I would have felt guilt: just felt numb. His eyes were still open. My right hand lifted. Instead of grabbing the hilt, did something weird. My middle finger touched my forehead on automatic. Rested my index and ring fingers over my eyes and extended the pinky and thumb.

Something clicked inside with the gesture, but for what reason I don't know. To satisfy that confusion I followed the logical tradition and closed Wolf's eyes before pulling the knife out. Wiped it off on my jeans as best as could be done. I also stood up, grabbed the ripped fabric of my sleeve and went to Braddock. Repeated the weird gesture, and respectfully covered his face. Braddock was a victim. He deserved this treatment more than Wolf.

When I turned around, Crepsley was still standing among the trees. He had not retrieved the spider cage, but its door had closed. Can't remember if he snapped his fingers or not.

Irrelevant. His continued presence was a bad sign.

A. Very. Bad. Sign.

"Why are you so stubborn?" He snarled. I was still too tired to feel much of anything. Not fear. Not sorrow. This was autopilot. Turning the question on its head seemed effortless,

"Why do you feel so compelled to help me?"

He didn't answer. Beneath the weariness, a small spark of irritation jumped. We both knew what was going on here. He was trying to coerce me into joining the ranks of the undead. God knew why.

Had to make him see reason.

"Do you know why those kids are dead?" I asked, "I made a promise not to talk about the Cirque. If I had said something, Wolf would not have been able to do as he pleased. They are dead because of me. You should have let him kill me."

The vampire stared like that was that was a completely idiotic statement.

"You did not know the killer's intentions. How can you possibly be responsible?"

"Then I'm-I'm responsible for the death of Melvin Thomas. He was killed _after_ you broke into the apartment. I could have told the police to look for the spider then."

"Would they have believed your story?" Crepsley countered, taking a single step forward. Maybe, eventually, but probably not in time to save the quarterback, but that hardly mattered. Wolf would have continued to kill. Eventually, that kind of information would have been heeded.

Right?

"I wanted revenge. I thought he killed Steph." I said instead.

"Did you intend to kill him? I believe you used the word 'catch', not 'kill' when you made your proposition."

"Did you not hear me threaten you?"

"Yes. It was merely a ploy to frighten me." Waved his hand in a gesture implied it was nothing. To a creature of the night, maybe it was.

"I killed my parents."

"On purpose?" He asked, three feet off. Why was he doing that? Intimidation? No, he was cornering his prey. Took a cautious step backward. I was injured and tired: perfect prey. Braddock was still lying behind me. Careful. Had to lie,

"Yes."

"I do not believe you." He snorted, more dismissive than shocked. That made me angry.

"Why not? You think I couldn't?"

"Yes. I have seen you fight twice now. You are clumsy and slow. The killer's death was more of an accident than intentional. I was merely trying to bolster your confidence when I said you performed admirably. You are also a terrible liar."

It could have been the dry tone. It could have been the fact that I was completely exhausted both physically and mentally. Also, being out debated by the red devil didn't help.

Something finally snapped.

"NINE!" I made a wild stab at Braddock behind me. Almost lost my balance and fell over him, shaking, "They make NINE! NINE murders! Around me! In less than two decades! _And_ _you want me to live for centuries?_ End of the human race, I tell you! I'M A MONSTER! A CURSED bloody damn _monster_-!"

It stopped. Mom, Dad, Tally, Steph, Susan, Brian, Remy, Melvin, Braddock, Wolf…there just wasn't enough air. Clearly not making sense either. He just _stood_ there. His expression-

_Charna's guts!_ Bolted.

Worse, he followed, steps much more subtle but crunching quickly down on the downed foliage. All of this was _insane_. Grabbed my shoulder and hard enough for his nails to bite into the skin. Swing around fast and _fought him_. Threw one wild punch with the other injured arm. Hurt like a son of a bitch but too desperate to care. Also too feeble. It was deflected easily. Caught now.

"I do not understand why you are so set on blaming yourself." Crepsley said. The pity was still there. _Pity._ I _hated_ him. He kept spinning lies,

"Nor do I know what you refer to exactly, but I _do_ know you are not a monster. I know evil when I taste it. You have good blood-"

"_Bastard! You damn liar-!"_

"-and that curses do not exist-"

"_Two weeks ago, vampires didn't exist!" _I spat. A lull. That managed to throw him for a second. One precious second. Grabbed the hand that had my shoulder and tried to pry it off. The vampire ignored the feeble attempt for freedom. Too busy stoking his scar again. Thinking. That was bad news. That-

"What if I knew a way to remove this so called 'curse'?"

Stopped. That was yet another lie. Yet a small wild fragment of hope ballooned in my chest. Its presence was terrifying. Worse, he kept talking,

"There is a sorceress that could help you. Her home is not far, but difficult to get to. Only those who have been there before can find it. I could take you to her. I make no guarantees that she will be able to help you, however. Although, considering your current position..."

Like my current position was that dire. There were plenty of reasons not to try. One was being forced to stomach _his_ presence. Then there was the capacity of allowing myself to get teased and then mercilessly crushed when she couldn't help me. Another that I'd be sucked even further into this weird new reality. Then lastly: Crepsley could also _die_ before we even got to the witch. Then it would be ten deaths on my plate. Nine was enough, even if he was a monster, he wasn't actively _killing_ anyone. Good news was this would be the most persuasive excuse given to escape the blood-sucking opportunist.

Except I couldn't say it.

To say that might make him revoke his offer. Terrible! I was actually _considering it._ He was a vampire, after all. I'd never met a vampire before. Maybe he had a better chance of surviving whatever shit fate cooked up. Maybe-

"I refuse to become a half vampire."

"Would you change your mind if you were not cursed?"

I didn't reply. I didn't know. Probably not. If I wasn't cursed, I'd be able to have connections, friends. Perhaps, I could even find Steph; wherever it was that she had gone to. Talk and laugh again.

If I became a vampire, I couldn't have that.

"In time, you _will_ change your mind." Crepsley interjected. The confidence in his voice immediately pissed me off,

"Everyone who receives the offer does. It would be wiser and above all _safer_ to make the change now, but I doubt you will listen to reason. Therefore, I will deign to accept your services as an assistant as you currently are. After we arrive, _if _we arrive, future bargains can be discussed then. Is this acceptable?"

God, this was so _selfish_. I couldn't cheerfully accept to become a half vampire to save an entire town. No, I had to wait until the bastard was dead and there was a chance to save my own damn hide. How disgusting is that?

_Promise me you'll live your life to the fullest._

Damn Tally and his stupid promises. Though, from the way Crepsley was talking, I might not have to worry about it too much longer. Toyed with the idea.

"How long will it take to get there?" I asked, warily.

"Not long." That was vague. I hated vague. Too much room for error with vague.

"What is that in days?"

"Three weeks."

That was a long time. Well, not that long. Wasn't even a month. Considering I had met and been friends with Steph for five years, that seemed like a pebble in the pond. However, I'd only met Braddock two days ago and he was already pushing up daises. But then he had been a human being and not a vampire…

I looked at Crepsley. Had to be honest.

"If you die, it's not my fault. Is _that_ acceptable?"

Once again, he didn't even pause to think about it.

"Yes."

"You're _insane_."

Yet I sighed and ran a hand through my hair,

"…But I really don't have any other choice, do I? I guess I accept. What do we do now?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**"**_**The longest part of the journey is said to be the passing of the gate." **_**- Marcus Terentius Varro (116 BC - 27 BC)**

We flitted.

He failed to give me a proper explanation of what 'flitting' actually was. All he said was it would be faster than walking and demanded I climb onto his back. Already the idea wasn't appealing: I didn't want to go anywhere _near_ him. This was still the same creature that tried to kill me. Even if he had saved my life, that didn't make him suddenly safe.

However, he was adamant and I pretty was much a wreck.

Warily, I curled my arms around his neck. He wasn't cold. Quite warm actually. But then that made sense considering he wasn't actually an animate undead corpse. It was weirder getting piggyback ride at my age.

"All set?"

"Yes."

We went _way_ too damn fast.

The trees actually blurred, black trunks zipping past. Could barely see them. Had to be going over a hundred miles per hour, wind biting into the whites of my knuckles. _Terrifying_. At least a car was built for impacts. The structure of a car keeps out the gale force of the air current. It also creates the illusion of safety by providing a nice enclosed bubble of air that completely separates people from from the high velocity world they are actually traveling in. It is _built_ to go that fast.

Completely exposed human beings are _not._

When he finally paused, his jacket had two new and permanent winkle creases. This happens to fabric when it has been subjected to a death grip. My fingers acutely ached when forced them to uncurl and relax. However, the death grip was a better alternative than having made a wild grab. Accidentally grabbing his throat could have made us crash and become nothing but mangled meat and splintered bones at the speed we had been zooming at. Dying would have been agonizingly slow and painful.

When my stomach settled, I gingerly looked over his shoulder and found my apartment building loomed across the street.

"W-what are we-we doing here?"

"I thought you might like to retrieve a few personal items." He sounded offended.

He looked around quickly. Currently, we were in covering shade at the edge of the wood. Must have circled the perimeter of town. A police cruiser was parked beneath stretching branches across the street. The nausea worsened. But there was no way the bodies could have been discovered yet. It had only been-what? Ten minutes? It had taken an hour to walk to the church, so that was about twenty minutes by car? Then there were the woods to navigate through. No way anyone could know yet.

So what was the cruiser doing here?

Simple. They were still watching the apartment. If the perpetrator broke into one apartment, they still had access to the building and might return for another victim. Also, the serial killer was still at large, so where was the harm in sparing one officer for a stake out than waste an opportunity to catch him?

Too bad nobody would ever get even remotely close to the truth.

I couldn't make out who was in the car. Imagined it was probably Tanner.

Crepsley moved.

It was a half moon, but the section of the street we were on was in the shadow of the building. The vampire approached, very nearly silent as he stepped out onto the lawn. The grass brushed against his pant legs, but no gravel crunched beneath his shoes: it was almost like he was weightless. He did not go to the entrance. Instead, we darted out of sight of the car and came up close to the wall. Before I knew what was happening, he punched his fingers into the brick with a quiet crackle.

"Hold on." He commanded in a whisper.

Soon, we ascended more than twenty feet up. I thought I would have found this more terrifying than the dash. Instead, the view was wild, a completely _new_ visual angle. Leaning out the window is one thing: physically dangling on the side of the building another. You'd think it would be the same kind of sight, but it isn't. Not at all. It was a good thing I didn't have my sketchbook or I would have let go and dropped like a stone trying to retrieve it.

It didn't take long to reach my window.

It was locked. I expected him to break the glass, or maybe even cut it open with one of his fingernails in a circle, like a jewelry thief does in the movies. Instead, he merely reached out, put his hand close to the metal clasp, and snapped his fingers.

It sprang open on its own.

Honestly, I gave up on normal reality a long time ago.

Within minutes we were back inside the studio. It was dark, but I didn't need to turn on the lights. Wandered, dazed, into the bathroom and changed into clean clothes. Threw the bloody garments into the bathtub. It wouldn't matter if they found them: soon I'd be a wanted man anyway. My face was smudged with dirt, hair blown out like when a cartoon character electrocutes himself. My hands were much worse, a complete bloody mess. The ten stab wounds the vampire had created what seemed like centuries ago were clogged with dirt and mud. They throbbed painfully. Took a sponge bath and carefully cleaned them out and disinfected the best I could before bandaging them up.

Went to work after that. Quickly scrapped together some things: three sketchbooks, pencils, a small watercolor set, two sets of clothes, toothbrush and paste, bar of soap, hairbrush, all the spare cash I had around, a couple of books: the basics. These went into my school bag.

Lastly, I pulled out the treasure box from under the bed. It had been the first thing I thought of, but forced myself to save it for last. I was still hesitating, self-conscious when it finally came time. Crepsley seemed to hover by the window with what could have been impatience or, oddly enough, a respectful distance. Hard to tell. His presence was still daunting, however. I ended up making sure to block his view with my back as I plucked out dad's glasses, mom's hairbrush, and the photo album. The album I worried about the most. It was largest item, but it did fit after a bit of coaxing. The bag was heavy, but I didn't care. Instead, I turned to the vampire at my windowsill.

The sight too similar. My brain flicked instantly back with the apathetic face, watching me choke to death. I had to blink hard, trying to clear the memory away, adrenaline kicked up.

"Is something wrong?"

His voice didn't help. Like a drowning man, ended up focusing on the Nile River scar. Still fascinating. Brought back to the theater: the sudden blossom of the lights, the applause, and to that first appearance: when it was nothing but an artwork. The carefully controlled smile and the way it shaped the muscle and skin, the shinny glass-like delicacy of each eye, and the roadwork of scar tissue. That one almost precise mark, stretching down like a drawn river against the Africa-like shape of his cheek.

This worked like a life preserver, but barely.

"No, let's go."

I didn't really say goodbye to my apartment or to all of my paintings. I didn't feel the need to. Nor did I feel a need to say goodbye to the building itself, nor the town it belonged to as we climbed back down. It had never really been home. Instead, most of the remains of that concept had been riding with me in the knife at my hip and the photos at my breast. The last few bits were more like childish trinkets I could not bare to part with.

I did, however, mentally say goodbye to Just-Call-Me-Freddy as we passed his darkened window. Also wished him luck. Anyone who gives kindness out like candy deserves all the luck they could possibly want. Also, he was probably the last friendly face I'd ever see again. Drifting down with nothing but the crunch of the brick, the window stayed visible for a good three minutes, before finally creeping out of sight.

With that, I also said goodbye to everything I use to know.

When the ground was reached, the monster and I then flitted into the unknown.

* * *

Bookdragon: That wraps up part one. Sorry it took me this long to update: had to pause to look for college housing. I have about two or three chapters of part two written, but I'm going to sit on them awhile until I can figure out exactly where its going from here. I think when I get things figured out, I'll continue to post on this thread.


	9. Part II: Prologue

BookDragon: "Okay, I've written about 8/10th of the plot. I think there's only a chapter or two more for the end of part 2. I also have some editing to do in between, so we'll see how it goes. Also, apologizes on format. I'll do the best I can to fix what goes amiss."

* * *

Prologue

Braddock was standing beside a body hanging upside down. It was a man. He wore a black bag over his head, but wore no shirt. The torso was nothing but a maze of scars, cuts, and blood. He was also alive. Rough breathes were dragged through the material, chest moving smoothly up, and down, up and down

And Braddock just stood there, staring with eyes so blue they belonged to the Atlantic Ocean. They had once belonged to the Pacific because they had been warm. Now they were just cold. Cold as ice.

Staring, Braddock silently lifted one pale finger. He pressed it against his cold lips.

_Shh_.

His shadow morphed and bled new life. Wolf appeared as if hatched from black silk, grinning. The muzzle of the gun flashed silver in the starlight like a fairy tale, clicked, and _banged._ Blood erupted in a fine mist, splattering that tan and the white of his gritted teeth. It was a maniacal grin that had no end as his eyes turned-

* * *

There were stars above.

And fumbling with slick sweaty palms I found grass below. Reality was back. Greedily sucking in air, my eyes finally adjusted to the gloom and I found a familiar human-shaped lump only a few feet away. Familiar, but not necessarily comforting.

A few dazed seconds passed before I decided to turn over.

The vampire was only a marginally better alternative.


	10. Part II: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"_As you journey through life take a minute every now and then to give a thought for the other fellow. He could be plotting something."_ -Hagar the Horrible

* * *

The trout flicked its tail, scales gleaming in the fading sunlight. It was about half a foot long. Not that large, but it would do. Silently, beneath the cool ripples of the stream, it nosed the river rocks. Ages pasted as it drifted closer. Steady now. Needed to stay completely still. Kept my hands apart. Ever so slightly wriggled my fingers. Tried to entice the trout. Finally, its sleek body darted forward shortening the distance to a mere three inches. Just a bit closer and-

"Miss Smalls?"

I flinched.

The trout darted away. _Great_. Dinner was ruined. Worse, the cellar monster was awake. Annoyed, I pulled my hands out of the cool water and wadded out of the stream. After three hours of work, I had only managed to catch one scrawny bass that was barely nine ounces. Tally was probably rolling over in his grave. He'd taught me how to fish with my bare hands. I'd been a fish-catching master by twelve. Being this out of practice was pathetic.

I didn't bother to call back to the vampire. He knew exactly where I was: a detailed note had been tacked to the inside of the cellar door. There was no excuse to pitch a fit. This was day nine, the sixth after we crossed the Atlantic, and was this was farthest I'd wandered off.

'Not far' in vampire terminology apparently translates to crossing two states to the coast and catching a damn _airplane_ headed over the ocean_._ I'd been terrified. As a cop killer, my face was sure to be all over the news. People would be _looking._

This turned out to be an incorrect assumption. People didn't look. There weren't enough people on the midnight flight to look. Most either had very large bags under their eyes or were so wrapped up in their own lives that they noticed nothing. They just shuffled their bags and moved along, following the rules while above their heads the reporter on Fox News was following a story on some unexpected flood damage. There nothing about the deaths of Officer Braddock and De Luca. It had already been over sixteen hours, they _must_have been discovered. Yet there was no quick burp of news or even two scrolling sentences about it below. Was Willowwich really that _insignificant_?

But the police, surely…maybe they didn't want national attention. Maybe they wanted me to think I got away with it. Yet nothing happened. No one screamed 'IT'S HER! THE COP KILLER!' or 'STOP THAT WOMAN!'. Not even passing through two metal detectors, closing and reopening the back pack. My shampoo was confiscated, but handcuffs never came off the belt. The fear of being caught was soon displaced by something else. I mean, after 9/11 weren't they suppose to be…and dying your hair black and cutting it short doesn't change one's appearance _that_ much, does it? So, I looked more like a boy than a girl, so _what_ a face was a face.

Wasn't it?

Yet, no one was looking at me. If anything, they paid more attention to Crepsley, which wasn't much in the first place. I could see why. It was the scar and that gets a certain amount of morbid fascination (I was one of them), but after the initial shock all interest faded. After that, it was the usual eye contact, the 'be nice to the customer' attitude. They just took the paper work the vampire handed over, checked if all was in order, and let us off.

I settled into couch in an uneasy state of shock and Crepsley just flashed this _creepy_ mysterious little grin…

Anyway, after we landed in Bialystok, Poland and left the city, I lost all sense of geography. It was too bad. I'd never left the country before, not even to visit Canada. We were only in the city for about an hour, just long enough to marvel at the strange nature of the architecture, how tiny the few empty parked cars left on the street actually were, and that all the street signs were written in something other than english. However, with no people, no sound; the streets were a void because it was about three or four in the morning. There was no life.

The place felt dead.

It didn't matter. Once we reached the city's edge, we flitted once again.

And while standing there on the river bank, the sun had descended and turning the sky into an inferno of blazing color. The grass was dry and coarse. Didn't bother to put my shoes back on. It was sometime in mid May, but a summer wind was passing through. Enjoyable weather. I collected my catch and took my time returning to the monster.

* * *

Crepsley appeared halfway back.

He was a lot more agitated than expected. I might have miscalculated.

"What were you doing?" He demanded.

I held up the fish in reply. I expected him to snarl some more. Instead, he once again did something unexpected. His eyebrows simply rose.

"Oh." Here was a pause. I tried to step carefully around him and continue forward down the path. Annoyingly, he matched the stride.

"I did not think you were capable of fishing." He said.

I didn't reply. He was irritatingly persistent. That's what I mean by unexpected. Vampires are suppose to be solitary. Instead, Crepsley spent a decent amount of time towards throwing out insults and asking questions. The second night, he'd inquired about my family. When that failed, he started to ask other questions, and finally fell back to making simple observations and verbal abuse.

Dialogue was a trick. Any information I provided could be used as leverage. His inhuman strength, speed, and enhanced healing qualities were intimidating enough. The fact that he was also deviously intelligent was even worse. He didn't need any more advantages, so silence was best.

After a dozen yards, the cabin reemerged from its hiding place behind a thick clump of trees. Crepsley also avoided civilization as much as possible, but liked to take advantage of deserted buildings. From the amount of stale air, dust, and deer heads mounted on the walls, it was clearly owned or at least previously used by hunters. This theory was confirmed when the lights failed to turn on. No electricity. The fridge was also completely empty, but there were some canned vegetables and boxed items in the pantry. It's the kind of thing you leave behind when you're sure you won't be back for another three months.

Shelter was shelter, however, and after sleeping outside in the open for the past week, I had been happy to sleep in a bed. It seemed to help with the nightmares. They'd been coming more and more frequently. I'd only had one or two instead of the usual four or five.

I went to the small fire pit I had dug earlier in the day. Fortunately, there were matches and kindling was abundant and easy to find. Striking the match, I expected some curt comment about laziness or the failure to produce fire the old fashioned way: by rubbing two sticks together.

I turned around in time to catch Crepsley cutting the belly of the fish open. Blood poured out of it, dark and maroon. In response, my stomach lurched. Three nights ago, I darted behind a tree and threw up after he started removing the intestines from a rabbit carcass. Couldn't help it. Intestines appear the same, whether they belong to an animal or a human.

His movements with his knife were slow and efficient, almost as if he was demonstrating. Except, this was no such thing. This was more like torture. Sitting there, he pulled out the spleen and stomach coolly and placed them next to the stone by the fire. They started to sizzle. The liver came next, slick and a strange.

I forced myself to watch.

It would have been a weakness better kept hidden.

When he finally handed the fillets over, I did not thank him. I stuck them two other hot stones to cook, but not too close to the organs.

The vampire pulled out his folding pots and pans next. They were intensely interesting, not only because they folded up but also because they appeared to be made of a fairly lightweight but hefty metal. It was not soley tin, iron, or steel. The craftsmanship also deserved closer inspection. A floral pattern or a name in script had been etched, but it was hard to ascertain which for a distance. Pausing to examine them was out of the question. It would indicate interest, and therefore supplying an opening. Worse, Crepsley kept them in a bag that did not leave his person, so curiosity couldn't even be satisfied during the daylight vampire punched the pot into its correct shape and set it down next to him. Once again, the domestic scene that unfolded was unsettling, even more so that watching the dismemberment of the fish.

No matter how many times he prepared dinner, it was still...disturbing. Vampires are supposed to live primarily on blood. In a few seventies' movies, they'd fly down or lunge forward to rip your throat open. Blood would fly everywhere, while the pale fanged creature messily gorged itself. Anne Rice kept that predatory edge but instead added some sophisticated emotional and mental calculation. Still, they had been vicious and cruel with their prey and ate nothing other than blood.

It was strange to watch him settle down and calmly peel potatoes.

Scary too because it looked completely ordinary. Crepsley easily passed for human more than half the time. Apart from his nocturnal schedule and proper speech (he never used contractions); he didn't look or act too differently than a normal human would. He slept, rose in the evening, dressed, and ate in a familiar fashion. He spent his free time quietly playing solitaire or piping small tunes on his penny whistle. Sometimes he'd practice maneuvering the spider back and forth in her cage, but this was expected behavior of any performer. He still moved, breathed, and took the shape of a human being, _but he wasn't._

And that was part of the vampire disguise, wasn't it? It was much easier to lull your prey into a false sense of security before striking. That was understandable, but-

"How long did it take you to catch?" Crepsley asked, not looking up from what he was doing. A potato skin curled and dropped quietly into the grass. I shrugged. Not that long, maybe an hour or two. Silence hung between us. I wanted to keep it that way, so I picked up one of the spare twigs for kindling and started doodling on the ground.

"Did you feed Madam Octa?"

I nodded.

Somehow I was managing that. Besides being completely hideous, the spider was a terror to handle. One bite and you were paralyzed; two and you were pushing up daisies. Worse, it was the same venom that had killed four of my peers. Of course, this was at the hands of a crooked cop whom I-

(murdered)

-killed accidentally, and not the work of the spider. Still, it looked fearsome. It never lunged to bite me, but I wasn't taking any chances. Every time the cage door opened just to drop in an earthworm or cricket my pulse rocketed.

Then again, my heartbeat was always rammed up. I was traveling with a dangerous predator. One wrong move…

"I noticed you tried to repair the rip on my coat sleeve." Crepsley said after a long pause, like was trying to go through a list. I didn't respond. It had been hanging on its hook with a two inch long hole. There was also a sewing kit on the top shelf of the coat closest. Inside were a few needles, a spool of red thread, and rusty scissors which functioned. Being an assistant was my end of the bargain.

"You have no idea how to sew do you?"

Shook my head. Didn't look at him. Anger was starting to boil up, so I clung to the picture. Beneath the dead man, there was the mouth of a cave on a hill. Two lines stretched from it and formed into a diagram that looked like a labyrinth full of weaving tunnels, similar in appearance to a Celtic knot. For some reason there were huge pieces of fruit in it. Fruit and frogs.

"Well, there will be plenty of time to learn how." Crepsley said, biting the nail of his left thumb, "Tomorrow, I will teach you."

That deserved no response. I also tried to ignore the nail biting. It was one of those things. Irksome things. Instead, I tried to completely blank him out of my conscience all together. Past the bullfrogs, all the tunnels combined into one and lead into a single chamber. It swung around on the bottom of the drawing, similar to a picture of a human stomach found in most science textbooks. Inside, a man was hanging upside down, pinned to a wall…

Started, unnerved.

Charna's bloody damn guts.

* * *

Flitting is a nauseating experience. There was just something extremely unsettling about watching the black and dark blue landscape bolt past. This was not stream-lined like a car, but nor was it bumpy like riding a horse. It was a bit like sitting on top of a washing machine going at Mach 3. Flitting was _vibrating_, which along with the darting black shapes did not agree with my stomach. Closing my eyes or hiding my face didn't help: that only intensified the motion sickness.

He failed to tell me it was going to be three weeks of _bloody damn flitting_.

In one of the periodic open fields next to a fence for sheep, Crepsley let me down for a five-minute breather. As usual, I wandered two feet off and sat on the ground and waited to see if I'd lose my dinner. Tonight he was too out of breath to mock.

Not for the first time, he pulled out a thin vial of liquid, I couldn't see it well in the dark, and drank it down in one quick gulp. His back turned as leaned heavily on the fence for a few minutes, breath still uneven. When he turned around, he appeared paler, clammier, which had seemed impossible until that point. I could see sweat trickling down his knotted brow. This wasn't usual. His expression was off.

For a second, there might have been pain.

Then I looked again and his face was entirely even. His shot an inquisitive look, but I said nothing. After a moment, he gave up and gestured for us to continue.

Must have imagined it.

* * *

Didn't imagine it.

Three hours later, he stopped so abruptly that my teeth slammed into the back of his skull. Saw stars and immediately tasted blood. Worse, his grip loosened. I grabbed instinctively to stay upright and choked him by accident on the way down. Fell into a bush behind him with a thump, which cushioned the impact. The world whirled, and then finally stopped. My nose wasn't broken, just bleeding. Ahead, the vampire staggered two more steps and crashed to his knees.

"Are you alright?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Fine." Crepsley snapped.

All it took was a look to know that was utter bullshit. Tammy Brown fainted in PE once. Just before she dropped, the color completely vanished from her face and lips. She'd turned completely white, like snow. Then her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she fell as limp as a rag doll.

Crepsley was in pallor stage.

Over exertion. He'd been running-_flitting_-like that every night for the past ten days on nothing but a few hours of sleep and an hour or two to eat each night. Even worse, he'd been carrying dead weight, mine_._ The five-minute breaks weren't cutting it. Running this ragged, he was going to kill himself-

Without warning, Braddock's openly startled face appeared like a bolt of lightning, blood trailing from the corner of his lips.

"No more flitting."

"Flitting is necessary," Crepsley retorted, irritated. We'd already had this argument. He was sitting in the grass now and breathing a bit more evenly. There was still no color in his face though. "If we do not, it will take over a month-"

"YOU ARE NOT FLITTING!_" _

The vampire looked up. I pretended not to notice. Stood up and dusted off, wiped the blood from my nose as casually as possible. Tried to save myself. I snarled,

"Even if I _did_ get out of a crash miraculously unscathed, or without a broken neck, I'd still be stranded in the middle of nowhere and probably would never make it back to civilization _alive_ if you died."

If he died out here, it would kill me. Probably. I wasn't responsible if he died. Even if he saved my life and I owed him for it, I did not need to return the favor. This was a business arrangement. It's purely self-interest.

Yet, gears were clearly turning in that twisted brain of his. I could tell the moment his face went blank. It was his way of keeping both his thoughts and emotions close to the vest and therefore not only unreadable but also unpredictable.

I hated it. Turned sharply on my heel,

"Come on. We're wasting time."

* * *

Crepsley pulled several tree branches down and laid them over a couple of fallen tree trunks he'd leaned over a boulder. Twice, he'd crouched down to double check how dark it was inside and glanced up at the waning moon. It was about three thirty.

I was clenching my jaw hard enough to hurt.

It was one of those things. One of those seemingly irrelevant but incredibly annoying things. I'd thought they were pet peeves at first. For instance, the fact he trimmed his nails with his teeth had created a stab of irritation. Or on some nights he refused to wear his shoes, preferring to flit barefoot. And, once, during a brief pause a few nights ago, a wolf pack had howled nearby and he'd _smiled_.

These instances grated on my nerves in a way I couldn't rationalize.

Then, four days ago, I stumbled upon him as he examined a shaded space between a couple of willow trees. I knew he picked dark or heavily shaded places to sleep, but never cared to stay near that area during the day.

However, that time his manner arrested attention. After a few nights, I found he inspected any space he considered sleeping in a very meticulous and fussy manner. The myth about sunlight proved to be true: Crepsley went to great lengths to avoid it. Caves, fallen trees, crates, cellars, narrow spaces beneath floorboards in closets: you name it; it got one hell of an inspection before it was deemed suitable. It was similar eerily to the way a man checks a boat for leaks before he goes sailing.

Or the same way Tally had inspected his room at four am before he went to bed.

My uncle had _hated _the sun. In our house, thick navy blue drapes had been _nailed_ into the adjacent walls to permanently cover the windows. He'd check them for constantly for holes. Nor was the door ever to be opened before sundown, unless there was an emergency. He'd even slept in a box complete with a lid because he chronically rolled out of bed. I'd slept in a similar type of compartment until I was six.

Then I went on my first sleepover and found out people don't normally sleep in boxes.

My uncle also had a habit of biting his nails and walking barefoot most nights. He'd also walked through the cool air as if he could see _everything_; darkness had never been an issue. He'd kept his fingernails slightly long and liked to hunt small game and cook outside. Sometimes he'd even try to catch the bats out of the air.

The random habits were the same and the similarity was unbearable.

* * *

Book Dragon: Sorry I left you guys with a crummy prologue last time. Criticism is appreciated.


	11. II: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_"Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate." _

_-Thomas Jones (1892 - 1969)_

Three days passed. I could see his point after doing the math. When we flitted across Willowwich that night, the trip had taken about thirty minutes. On foot, it would have taken two or three _hours_. Roughly, that meant flitting was about six times faster than walking. Considering this, if the witch's house was eleven days away _flitting_, then we were looking at possibly _two months _on foot.

Luckily, this wasn't necessary. The fact that he could seal cuts with his saliva and closed the bullet hole in my arm proved one piece of vampiric dogma: they were capable of speedy healing. Therefore, I surmised a week of normal walking should be more than enough time for him to recover. The vampire already appeared better, but the risk wasn't worth it. Five days of rest would be the best precaution. When he fully recovered, as loathsome as it was, then flitting would be in order again.

This would be a reprieve. Even if it took slightly longer and I ended up walking all night it was better not to be nauseous or road kill.

The only thing I despised was how much time it opened up for conversation.

"Is that your technique?"

I ignored him. Instead of a river, we'd arrived at an elongated pond that had a healthy cricket population. It took a while to get use to the sound. The bugs and vegetation here were different from home. Some trees were recognizable, but others were completely new. There were times I could almost believe I woke up in a parallel dimension.

Standing stock still again, I wriggled my fingers slightly in the water. Waited. The moon was full, so I could just make out the sediment below and possibly the shadow of a cod beneath a nearby lily pad. Concentrated on being still to make my fingers more enticing-

Water sloshed upstream.

Crepsley wandered in, pants rolled up, exposing ghost white calves. I stopped dumbfounded. It was only for a second.

"_Knock if off you're scaring them_." I growled.

"Apologizes."

He copied my stance about five feet upwind. Now I pointedly ignored him. Needed to keep my arm completely still. After some time, the dark shadow drifted closer. Slowly fluttered my fingers. Come on. Come closer. The fish did. It was a large bass, over a foot long. I was careful not to get over excited. Couldn't help but drool a little bit when it drifted even closer. Carefully, gently, my fingers brushed the stomach of the creature. When it paused, confused, I snatched with both hands. Had to be about three pounds. Good size for lunch.

With a triumphant bark of laughter, I hefted my prize up to display it. Can't fish? Hah. Except, I never found his face. A large dark shape behind the dark red outline of him moved smoothly closer. My vocal chords seized.

"How-?"

A splash flew with the surge forward. Dropping the fish, my hand went for my knife. The water pulled at my feet, greatly slowing the rush. Already knew there wasn't even a remote chance of getting there in time. Four feet away when the black shape came, quick quick, faster than a blink-

Luckily, the vampire had cat-like reflexes.

Crepsley turned on a dime when it lunged. I blinked. Crepsley had whatever it was pinned, thrashing around in the water. The commotion and loud coughing silenced the peeping bugs. I waded another two steps forward when Crepsley said,

"I can still hear you coming from a mile away. Never mind smell you from two. Gods Gavner, can you at least learn to _bathe_ properly?"

Out of the water, a voice spat back,

"Shut up! I've been flitting for three nights straight! Let go or I'll rip your arm off!"

Human sounding voice, but it had moved so fast! Had to be another vampire. Weren't vampires normally solitary? I expected blood and violence. Instinct screamed to run. Instead, I defied logic and kept still.

Crepsley smiled at his attacker and relinquished his grip.

Splashing and sloshing up from out of the water, a figure stood up. It was shorter, burlier in the chest and arms, with wet jeans and shirt clinging to its frame. This combined with the dark shortly cropped hair confirmed my suspicions that the aggressor was male. Stood by, fingers lightly touching the tilt of my blade. Yet, Crepsley appeared calm enough.

Then again, I was starting to suspect that he always composed no matter what the situation.

"That was a terrible thing to do. You ruined lunch and scared my assistant half to death."

The stranger turned around, finally exposing his face. Immediately a choppy fascination bloomed. He had more scars than Crepsley! There was nothing as impressionable or unique as the Nile River scar, but it was still a new weather beaten face to dissect. Longed for my sketchbook. Then, I realized those dark rimmed eyes inspected me just as intently.

"This is your _assistant_?" the stranger asked.

"Gavner-"

"Larten, I didn't know you were still such a wom-!"

In a red blur, Crepsley shoved him back into the water. The stranger came back up sputtering and cussing.

I regarded the two very, very warily. Despite its unpredictability, there seemed to be a familiar concept in this kind of behavior. I remember reading about this sort of thing in books about brothers. Also, while Stephanie didn't have a brother, she did have a cousin named Blake that came to visit every once in a while. Two years younger and having no other male cousins, Blake found Steph to be the only suitable replacement because she was such a tomboy. So, whenever he had come to visit, he pretty much followed us everywhere. As a result, she had treated him in a very similar fashion: tripping him and punching him whenever she got the chance.

Perhaps this like that: a sign of affection.

The stranger-Gavner? - snarled something foul and retaliated by grabbing Crepsley's ankle. The second vampire tired to pull the first off balance. The red-haired one was ready for this, however. He dodged the grab and promptly shoved Gavner's head back into the water.

Then again, it never hurt to be careful.

* * *

Crepsley helped/dragged his associate up to the bank for a bit of private banter. He told me to keep fishing, but I was distracted. I thought vampires were solitary. Yet, they were clearly having some kind of conversation. What did vampires-I was assuming this man was one-talk about, anyway? Couldn't hear many discernable words, the cricket song swelled once the fight ended and became too loud.

However, occasionally the wind blew just right and I heard words like 'flitting', 'generals', and 'hunters'. Once, I thought I heard 'princes', but that sounded completely ridiculous. It would have been more enlightening with visible expressions, but Crepsley's back was blocking the other vampire completely from sight. I kept glancing, but he never moved. Nor did I risk moving. Again, curiosity, if noticed, could be used against me.

So I pretended not to care and forced myself to wait for a smaller whitefish to come at its own peril before walking back. By then, both of them had started a fire and were sitting on a few fallen logs they'd dragged over.

"Miss Smalls, this is Gavner Purl." Crepsley said, gesturing to the pockmarked face adjacent to him. Currently bare-chested, it was easy to see the scars were not limited to his face. He'd taken his shirt off and hung it up to dry on a nearby branch. He'd also taken his boots and socks off. He had only three toes on his left foot.

Interesting. That, along with the scars, laid the regeneration myth to rest.

"He is an incompetent, clumsy, but close friend of mine. Gavner, this is Miss Smalls, my endlessly stupid, stubborn, selfish, and very _human_ assistant."

Gavner Purl sat up straighter, suddenly alarmed.

"By the blood of the Vampaneze! She's _human?_ Her hands-!_"_

"Yes. Tell them I made no attempt to fool you. I will provide further details later on. For now-" The red-haired vampire gestured.

Purl made an effort to be civil.

"The pleasure is mine." He replied, holding out his hand with a half smile. His fingernails were equally sharp and long, but his hands were more calloused than Crepsley's. Also interesting. I thought about not shaking to show contempt. Then again, if I didn't, both vampires would probably get upset. Survival instinct dictated that that was a very bad idea that could ultimately result in some serious pain.

For now, until I had a better idea how to deal with these creatures, it would be better to be politic.

I shook. His grip was warm and firm. Nor did he break any of my fingers.

"Like wise…are you sure you don't want a towel?" I nodded to his pants. They were still soaking wet. Playing hostess was a role that seemed best.

"You want to see me naked that badly huh?" He retorted, grinning.

I started at him. Wasn't sure how to respond to that. Part of me wanted to snort back 'it wouldn't be anything I haven't seen before'. I took a figure drawing class, so I'm familiar with male anatomy. I didn't know, however, if it would be prudent to share this information or not.

Crepsley solved the problem by giving his friend a very nasty glare.

"Gavner, if you don't behave yourself I will throw you back into the pond."

That was definitely a threat. Not a teasing one either. Yet, the brown haired vampire had the luxury of shrugging it off.

"Never mind him. With my striking good looks and charm, he's just afraid I'm going to steal you away."

I didn't reply. 'Stole' sunk in like a blade. Crepsley, once I'd shown weakness, had pretty much stolen my life. He just had the forethought to give me enough rope to hang myself before offering a lesser evil. The thought of it happening for a second time was just...

My hand twitched towards the hilt of my blade.

Yet, stabbing a vampire could be a lethal move.

Instead, I drew the blade-_slowly_- and started prepping the fish. Actions speak louder than words. Stabbed into the brain with one shift motion to make sure it was dead. Then, one clean cut was made along the gill line. Blood poured onto the ground.

Wolf's bloody torso flashed vivid.

I ignored it. Extracting the meat used to be my favorite part of fishing, before so many people died. Tried not to relive the sight of the upside down corpse either as I filleted and deboned the animal. Avoided looking at the heart, stomach, or lifeless eyes. Cut the scales off in a few brutal movements. Needed a pan.

Looked up, Purl was struggling to hold in laughter.

"_Something funny, Mr. Purl?_" I asked, sweetly. Rested my arm on one knee, dangling the bloody knife in my right hand. Bared my teeth in a vicious smile. It was the same smile I used on Steph's father.

Instead of being intimidated, however, Gavner simply raised his eyebrows and looked at Crepsley, smiling.

"She's feisty."

"Yes, Miss Smalls is not as mild mannered as she appears." Crepsley replied airily. He was regarding the dismemberment with a fierce frown, like a teacher that had just failed an exam.

That wasn't the expected or desired reaction. Should have expected it though. They were predators: it was like a rabbit baring its chubby teeth at a wolf. I started hacking up the last of the vegetables we had in an effort not to appear dubious.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods? I thought the Cirque traveled through the Midwest during this time of year."

"A business arrangement." Crepsley replied, but didn't go into specifics. Purl wrinkled his brow puzzled. I recognized this. This was a famous Cryptic Crepsley moment. I looked from one to the other. Anger makes you do stupid things. I decided to take a risk.

"He's taking me to see a witch."

Purl shot a wild look,

"_Charna's guts_! Does Lady Evanna-?"

Crepsley simply glared and the other vampire promptly closed his mouth. Not that it mattered. My heart was beating too fast. I forgot to be afraid of Crepsley. He was agitated about the name slip. I'd asked about the witch before, but the vampire had refused to tell me anything.

Truth was, I didn't give a damn about names. Not then.

"Did you just say 'Charna's guts'?"

Purl opened his mouth, but was cut off.

"Yes, it is a common phrase in this region." Crepsley said, like it was common knowledge. Then he grinned,

"You did not know this?"

'Charna's guts' had been Tally's swear. It was one of the few things he had bequeathed after his death. Instead of getting family stories and being taken to ballet or softball like the other kids, he had told myths, legends, turns of phrase, and taught me how to fish and hunt. While other girls memorized Nsync or the Back Street Boys, I sang old Beowulf like ballads from God knows when.

At first, I assumed they were French due to his name. Later, I found that wasn't the case. When I was older, I found his stories were untraceable. Yet, suddenly, he we were, God knows were _and they said Charna's guts._ Knowing the geographical location would have been like getting a piece of my uncle back.

I couldn't ask. Blatant curiosity was weakness. So, I shrugged like it wasn't a big deal,

"It startled me. I just haven't heard anyone use it in a long time, that's all." Had to change the subject. I turned to Purl. He looked as mystified as I felt.

"So what is Lady Evanna like…?"

"Do not tell her anything." Crepsley snorted, "Miss Smalls gets herself into trouble when she has too much information."

"Says the vampire that conveniently leaves out the half vampire stipulation in our bargain. Honestly, when dealing with you, I need all the information I can _get_."

Purl looked sharply at Crepsley, "You tried to trick her?"

Crepsley smiled. Cupped his jaw and stroked the scar. The tick signified something, but couldn't ascertain what. It was a something he did frequently, possibly a break in his poker face. I knew that, but it didn't help me figure out what was in his hand, so to speak.

"Does it matter? It did not work. One can not be punished for a crime they have not committed."

"And then there's attempted murder..." Purl muttered.

"That is a human crime."

Purl stared at his friend pointedly.

"Then I suppose vampires are a law onto themselves?" I snorted. This was ridiculous. Crepsley said becoming a vampire meant having no family, no friends. How could laws factor in with such a solitary-

"Actually yes," Crepsley replied, "We have Vampire Generals who keep and enforce our laws. Gavner happens to be one of them."

I looked at the dark haired vampire surprised. Vampire _cops_? Talk about a double negative. Yet the idea was amusing until a thought occurred. If this were true, then there had to be hierarchy and structure to such a system. If vampires were capable of _policing themselves_, then there had to be a vampire community that was not only conscious of itself_,_ but was able to organize and regulate itself.

Suddenly, the idea of nomadic predators vanished. Instead the notion shifted and more towards an Anne Rice type of political set up.

That was scary.

"Are you sure it's wise to tell her that?" Gavner asked.

"Miss Smalls is my assistant. She will be bound to find out sooner or later. It will be more convenient if it is sooner." Crepsley replied.

Which meant absolutely nothing. All information is up to interpretation. He'd just rather be the one in charge of dispensing whatever that so-called 'information' happened to be. The fact was Crepsley could never be trusted.

* * *

Purl traveled with us for the next two days.

When dawn came, Crepsley and he retreated into the darkness of a massive rotting oak tree. This retreat from the sun confirmed, without a doubt, that he was a vampire. The speed he had used when lunging for Crepsley should have been all the evidence required, but again, it was hard to lump him into the blood thirsting category. It was something about the way he sulked, squabbled, and gaffed. The heavy breathing was a bit _Shadow of the Vampire_, but even that was only slight. The commonplace normalcy only intensified when the two teased each other mercilessly…

They weren't exactly inhuman and that was terrible. Why was that? Then Purl started biting his nails at about three in the morning and the familiarity of it all reared its ugly head.

Time crawled.

* * *

I never bothered to watch Madam Octa eat before.

I'd taken biology. I knew the mechanics to how spiders feed. Orb weavers use their venom to paralyze their victims before wrapping them up and feasting upon them. Tarantellas were a fuzzier topic, but Madam Octa had already displayed the effects of her bite. No, the worrying part was the fact that their prey was still alive when they liquefied them. In human terms, it would be like getting thrown into an acid bath. Getting killed by a lion seemed much more preferable.

I dropped a shiny blue beetle in. Before I could avert my eyes, however, I saw her plump body dart forward. The movement was fluid and yet precise. Like a tiger, she pounced on the insect and plunged her fangs into its tough exoskeleton as if it were tissue paper. The beetle didn't stand a chance. When it stopped twitching, her maniples expertly shredded the carcass into small pieces, which she devoured with relish. She ate the whole thing.

That was unexpected…but fascinating. More humane at least.

The world seemed to have turned inside out.

I dropped two grasshoppers in at the same time. She performed the novelty again, making sure to rip its wings off both so that neither could escape. Agile and intelligent, absolutely none of her movements were wasted. Her skill was certainly impressive. My collection of insects was spent before my curiosity was satisfied. I made an extra trip just to watch her hunt for a fifth and sixth time.

She was like a little eight-legged colorful panther. I couldn't _believe_-

"Miss Smalls?" A familiar voice called.

I quickly slammed the door of the cage shut and started scratching frantically in the dirt. I had started conserving paper; this kind of action wouldn't elicit question. When Crepsley appeared, it looked like I couldn't have cared less about his little eight-legged terror.

* * *

"Why aren't you flitting?" Purl asked on the third evening, his face half exposed in a fiery glow.

The forest had thickened so greatly that there was pitch-black darkness above and around us, apart from the torch Crepsley carried. Moths danced around it, ivory white like huge snowflakes. That was something else startling: vampires couldn't see in complete darkness. Their eyesight was perfect in low light. Maneuvering between the trees, it felt more cave like than open ground. It reminded me of Mirkwood from out of The Hobbit, apart from the occasional bat that would occasionally dart out of the gloom.

"It'll take forever to get to Lady Evanna's on foot."

There was a pause.

"Flitting makes me nauseous." I muttered, breaking six hours of pure muted silence. I feared what Crepsley would have replied. On the other hand, my body was already subpar compared to the power both creatures posed, so admitting that kind of weakness was the lesser of two evils.

"Me too." Purl replied unexpectedly.

I twisted around. Purl missed the look. He was too busy throwing his hand up into the air. Expertly, his fingers snatched one of those black sporadic bodies as it whirled past. He snapped the creature's neck before he said,

"I only flit when I have to. It's something about the vibrating that doesn't agree-"

"SHUT UP!"

The vampire stopped, startled. Let the bat go by accident, but by then it was too late. Not that I was worried about it. I was shaking. Twisted back around, trying to burn the sight of Purl catching the damn thing out of my head, Crepsley slid into view as an unwelcome replacement. He had stopped a dozen paces ahead with an openly puzzled expression.

"What is the matter?"

I didn't say anything. Refused to. He challenged it with a long look, but still I didn't talk. Expected a fight. Instead, the red devil turned around and started forward again.

None of us spoke for the rest of the night.

* * *

That was the morning I started dreaming about frogs. Thousands of them, all different colors and sizes. They spanned across the water and lead into a deep hallow place that looked like the inside of an intestinal track. Ribbits echoed like chiming bells along the huge curving walls. The voice of a dead man whispered.

_There's nothing to be afraid of._

Then turning a corner, Wolf appeared. At the center, he stood with the gun already drawn and ready. He smiled, bearing his teeth in a snarl.

_I haven't got all night bitch._

The shot was lethal. It tore through my throat and left an arch of spatter on the walls. I died. I always died.

* * *

Overslept. Panic continued. Hadn't prepared dinner. Hadn't fed the spider. Crepsley was going to have my head on a stick. Had to think of something quick-

Brain skittered to a stop. Where there was usually silence, there were voices.

"-taking her to Evanna? Are you completely out of your mind?" Purl whispered.

"I had no other choice."

"Gods! She could be one of _them!_ We've already lost fourteen within the last six months. _Fourteen!_ _Three in just this month!_ There's talk that the Princes are going to call Council early if things don't change. How do you know she isn't a spy?"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Crepsley asked, softly.

"No, of course not, but you should have blooded her or left her. If you felt so compelled, you should have at least lied and made up something, _anything,_ made up some fake cure to convince-!"

"Shh."

Quiet descended. I thought about trying not to breathe in hopes the discussion would continue. Then I realized this was stupid. They could probably tell if someone is asleep just from their heartbeat, never mind by the sound of their breathing.

Normally, this would not have been worth pursuing right away. Considering the fact the vampire had attempted to _trick_ me, not fully diverging information had been expected. Even planning to change me behind my back was also expected. So expected that for the past fifteen days, I'd been straining, looking for the loophole he was going to exploit when we got there. This kind of instance should have been noted and examined at length because confrontation would only result in lies.

That's what logic argued.

It was powerless against black fury.

"A fake cure would not have worked." I said, managing to sound calm.

Sat up out of the long grass in my small clearing. Sunlight was warm on my shoulders and heavy like battle armor. A few ladybugs were crawling lazily down my arms and chest. The two of them were huddled in the generous shade several yews provided, squinting out. Felt strong, superior, but above all livid.

"People would have continued to die arbitrarily. I'd have figured it out. For making me waste innocent lives, I also would have sought recompense. Who are 'they'?" I asked.

They said nothing. Of course they said nothing.

The monster inside bared its teeth,

"Who ever it is, I'm not their spy. Nor do I care to get any further involved with your kind. But until this curse comes off, I'll fulfill my end of the bargain no matter how dangerous it gets because I agreed to_._However, what I _don't_ appreciate is being completely uninformed about what type of danger to expect." I hissed.

Crepsley was quiet for a moment. Then, just as calmly, he asked,

"Why should I share anything with you if you refuse to do the same?"

I stared at the bastard. Why couldn't he just _leave me alone?_ Why-?

"Share?_ Fine_. I found my uncle nailed to the wall, gutted, with his eyes cut out when I was thirteen. His stomach had been completely removed, and his intestines had been left hanging, sprawled out on the floor next to a puddle of dried vomit. His heart, brain, and tongue were missing. They were never recovered. The police said he'd been there for some time, judging by the fact that flies had laid eggs in his eye sockets. They also assured me they'd catch those responsible, but that never happened. I still have nightmares about finding him.

"Is that what you want me to share?"

Quiet. Cryptic Crepsley was keeping his face blank, damn him. This was a statement that needed a response. This needed to be made perfectly clear. I turned to Purl who, for some reason, suddenly appeared more vulnerable. Needed a verbal withdrawal, some kind of confirmation that they would drop the damn subject. That they would stop acting like humans, stop trying to be _friendly and intrusive_-

"Does that sound like a pleasant thing to share, Mr. Purl?"

"No."

His tone killed the rage. His voice sounded not reluctant but sad. Soft, sad, and so damnably _human._ It should have sent me over the edge. Instead, there was just weariness. This was not a battle that could be won.

"Madam Octa hasn't eaten. I'll go collect insects for her."

* * *

It was one of the few times that complete isolation had been a soothing balm instead of a curse. Couldn't see the moon, so I couldn't tell the time. Instead relied on the thickening blackness that collected in what was now dubbed Mirkwood forest to ascertain that dusk had plunged into evening. The orange yellow glow that crept along the ground was expected.

I turned around with a fist full of night crawlers and found a figure behind me. Expected a furious Crepsley.

Instead, Purl stood there with a torch.

"You don't like vampires, do you?" He asked. It was a quiet question.

"No. I hate them."

It probably wasn't the best choice of words, especially if fourteen vampires had actually died fairly recently. Worse if it was the work vampire hunters. That's the only thing I could think of to explain it. I didn't care. I _wanted_ an enemy to fight. I wanted to fight a monster and be justified for it.

Instead, he just stood there, as if demanding some kind of explanation. Or confession. Something-

"If I tell you why, will you leave me alone?"

"Maybe. It depends on the answer."

Considered that. Maybe it was the honesty of that statement. Or maybe it was because Purl hadn't actively tried to trick me as far as I was aware. If anything, Creplsey's original description of his 'friend' had seemed pretty accurate. He was rather clumsy and whole heavy breathing thing…

When I tried to think of a way to explain it, a huge blank spot filled my brain at first. Panic almost came, but then my voice came softly,

"I had a friend that adored vampires. She got sucked into the whole fantasy. I didn't, but that was fine. Vampires didn't exist, so that was fine. There was no reason to object. The thrill was harmless. I memorized all the so-called rules, read the books, watched all the movies because it was her hobby and I liked spending time with her. However, I always knew the truth."

"And what truth would that be?" He asked, voice low. _Excellent_. I pointed at him, worms writhing around my fingers.

"You're just parasites. You feast on human blood and steal just to sustain yourself. Why shouldn't I loath overgrown mosquitoes?"

"Because these so called mosquitoes choose not to kill your kind." Purl replied in a snarl. His face had darkened. _There._ Fighting spirit. I wanted to draw my blade and challenge him to combat. It was suicide, but I still wanted it. I wanted to inflict pain and suffering.

Inside me exists a monster.

"We don't kill to feed. We're far stronger, faster, and older; we could slaughter thousands of you. We could enslave all your kind and completely drain anyone we wanted. It would be easy."

Purl shook his head,

"Yet we don't. We choose not to. We have morals. We only take the blood we need to survive. That's all. We don't _kill._ We believe vampires who kill humans are _evil._"

Lies. Utter bullshit. I didn't bother to mask it. Yet, the frustration looked genuine when he ground his teeth.

"Charna's guts, what does Larten _see_ in you?" He hissed.

That was the best question he ever asked. I grinned, baring my teeth in a savage smile again,

"Beats me, but feel free to change his mind."

"I already tried. He's stubborn about helping you. Gods know why-"

It was easy to pounce on that rosy sentiment and rip it to pieces.

"_Helping_ me? He tried to trick me into becoming his _slave_ for the rest of my life! He's bringing me to the witch in an attempt to cure me as step one in his continued plan to _turn me in one of you blood-sucking monsters!_ How is that helping-?"

Purl exploded.

"_Larten Crepsley would_ never _do that!_ He is one of the most honorable vampires ever blooded! He puts great thought into everything he does! He would not EVER prey on a person like that, not unless it served some greater purpose!"

He stopped. One of Steph's black stares flashed and the memory came like a wave: one of her arms wrapped around my shoulders-

_Say another thing about my friend, Sandra, and I'll punch your face in. _

Those words had held such fierce power…

_This is Gavner Purl, an incompetent, clumsy, but close friend._

For a second, I couldn't talk. Then the marred tan face reappeared staring out of the flickering darkness. It was still the visage of a blood-sucking creature. A monster. A monster far worse than my monster.

Quietly, I asked,

"If you know him so well, then tell me: what is his so called 'greater purpose' then?"

The vampire said nothing at first. He did something extremely confusing by simply smiling. It was an openly frustrated and painful grin,

"That is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

Before I could find a retort for that, the vampire vanished in a flit. The light went out and allowed the darkness to roll in. It swallowed everything.

* * *

Crepsley was sitting in front of campfire. He must have heard me coming, but he didn't turn around. I moved carefully, taking even paces like a panther might. Tried for the casual step. There was the smell of stew. That was expected because the vampire practically lived on it, besides human and animal blood. Honestly, he must be over a hundred years old: couldn't he have learned to cook anything _else_?

I continued to stand behind him, in his shadow, willing him to say something or turn around. He did not. So-

"I chased your friend away." I said. It was daring.

"I had thought you would." Crepsley replied. He sounded unconcerned. The fire crackled when a wood knot exploded sharply. At once, my heartbeat quickened. It had to be now. I'd spent the last sixty minutes digesting and brooding on what Purl had told me. The plan was as good as it was going to get. I had to do this quickly before I chickened out.

Inhaled. Tried to stay calm…

"I'm-I'm ready to make another bargain with you."


	12. II: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Judge of a man by his questions rather than by his answers."

- Voltaire (1694 - 1778)

He didn't say a word. Still, there was that sense of curiosity. Like when a dog sits up with its ears cocked: _what was that? _Licked my lips and kept talking,

"Have you ever seen Silence of the Lambs?" I felt stupid even asking.

"Sadly, I have not." 'Please continue' his tone seemed to imply.

"Well, there's this scene…and it's pretty similar to the situation we're in right now. You have…stated that there is a lack of-of information being shared between us. The two characters find themselves in the same predicament and-and their solution was to, ah, _Quid Pro Quo_. Are you familiar with that term?"

"It translates to 'something for something'. That is the nature of a bargain."

"Wuh-well, they pretty much took it as 'you tell me things and I'll tell you things'. They would alternate asking questions. Each party had to give an adequate and truthful answer or-or the exchange would be considered… void."

This was like playing with fire. Yet I waited for a response. I bore the silence, waiting for his word.

"…So, are you suggesting the same arrangement?" He asked, softly.

"With boundaries." My throat was closing. I coughed,

"For-for example, we would have a limit of five-five questions total per night to be asked within a thirty-minute interval. I have thought of this for several reasons."

I started counting off on my hand, even though he still wasn't looking. Somehow, the lack of staring eyes helped. It was a little easier talking.

"One, hours of interrogation would leave us both completely exhausted and-and scattered brained and this would make us ask stupid questions. It would be-would be better to spend the day considering which questions would be the most pertinent for the information we are seeking.

"Two, a chunk of time must be put aside for the questions themselves. That way, the answering party will not be dis-distracted and can give an honest answer. Also, there will be no-no confusion between Quid Pro Quo questions and the ones that occur from normal-from normal traveling procedures. Finally, this would eliminate the expectation of being asked which would make us both extremely irritable.

"Three, we should ask five questions: one person will get three and the other two. Seven-seven is too many. Also, the order should-should switch off so the same person is not forced to go first all the time. Every other night, each in-individual has the advantage of asking another question as well."

I paused, trying to remember if I forgot anything.

"You make this sound like a game." The vampire retorted, amused.

In a way, it was. It was in the same manner that chess happens to be a game. It is a game that can be played at leisure, but in reality it is founded on military tactics, battles... That's why they call it the game of kings. It was also a way to gage the mental capacity of your opponent and find all of his weaknesses.

I knew this because Steph had loved chess, and could play for hours. She'd use to play against herself when I got sick of losing. It had been her second love after vampires of course.

Crepsley was quiet for a moment, then said,

"However, I feel an there should be a penalty if one refuses to answer or is caught lying."

"Lying would be breaking the bargain." I said.

"Yes, but suppose one person gives their three answers and only received one in return? This is not fair. Nor can that information be returned, or rather _unheard_. Therefore, a penalty should be in order."

Hadn't thought of that. Shifted, nervous again.

"…What do you suggest?" I immediately thought he'd say something like the offender should have their hand cut off. Instead, he replied,

"If one is caught lying, then by default they must answer two questions truthfully, one directly after the other."

Sounded kind of like penalty shots in basketball. I shrugged. That seemed okay. Except-

"Well…what if you lie on the penalty questions?"

"Then," The vampire picked up a thin stick that had been burning in the fire, "that person will agree to a harsher punishment."

I started, owlishly. There was the morbid violence I had expected. It still sounded unfair. Crepsley could and would easily burn me, even against my will. I did not have the same power. He could also heal much more quickly-

"If you are debating my sense of honor, cease now. A vampire would rather die than break his word." Crepsley replied.

"Yet you're not so squeamish about lying…" I pointed out.

"I never lied. I merely excluded to mention certain truths." Like that was much of a difference. Considered it. Juggled it, but still the branding…

"I will agree to being branded as a penalty if you agree to sit out in the sun for thirty minutes."

He stiffened. That was an interesting reaction. So sunlight really _was_ a weakness. After so many days of meticulously avoiding it, it had been hard to ascertain if the motive was more out of irritation or real dread. Now I knew it was dread, which meant the nightwalker wasn't as invincible as previously thought.

He hesitated.

"…Very well. Should we start our Quid Pro Quo now?"

I shook my head, "Not yet. Let's take an hour to consider our questions. Alone. Then I'll flip a coin to see who goes first."

I had to flip it. Crepsley could move fast enough to cheat, but he could also see fast enough to make sure I couldn't. This wasn't information I had to tell him. He was intelligent enough to glean that understanding. This is why giving him information, _any information,_ was extremely dangerous.

The vampire smirked. It was only for a moment, but it was still disturbing.

"Then we will meet in one hour."

* * *

Sat, scratching lines into the dirt with a stick, thinking.

Like chess, I needed to gage my opponent. My first thought was to attack him outright and ask what was really on my mind, which was what Purl had known. However, I considered this too bold a move. Nor did I know how to word it exactly right. That's why he needed to be tested. I wasn't sure how Crepsley would form his answers, or rather what 'truths' he'd leave unsaid. It was like the genie in the bottle paradox: if you didn't ask what you wanted _exactly_ then you were liable to get screwed.

However, that was in my favor too. I could be as vague as I liked.

Also, there was another reason not to go directly for the kill. This was an amble opportunity to collect even more valuable information: such as what kind of weaknesses a real vampire was subject to. I could weed out the mythology bullshit.

In the end, I decided for tonight I wanted to test exactly how personal he'd be willing to go. My control questions were:

How old are you?

Why did you become a vampire?

What are you most afraid of?

They seemed pretty simple, but the last would probably be the most useful bit of information. I knew he feared the sun, but there had to be more. It would be helpful to know what your enemies are afraid of, even if it was something as frivolous as the boogey man. I felt a certain amount of confidence knowing how much the sun affected him. If I knew what he feared, perhaps I'd actually stand a chance of winning this so called 'game'.

When I stopped, the ground was covered with drawn frogs and tunnel work. Down the belly of one of these spaces, a man was hanging by his feet by a length of chain. His hands were bound behind his back. An indiscernible scribble scratched out his face, but it was starting to disappear into the barrel mouth of a man-sized pistol pointing up from directly below.

I kicked the drawing into oblivion.

My subconscious never ceases to scare me.

* * *

The round piece of metal gleamed bright red for half a second as it twirled up in the air. Hung, suspended, the coin finally spun back onto the ground with a high-pitched _ting_. It did not land at first. The ground was too hard. Instead, it bounced and rolled chaotically off to the right for about three feet and finally settled when it hit a tree trunk.

It was heads. _Damn._

Crepsley smiled. I expected something damning. Instead, he asked,

"You lived alone. Why were you not living with family?"

That wasn't so hard to wriggle out of. I shrugged,

"My parents were black sheep. My relatives wanted nothing to do with me. How old are you?"

"About one hundred and sixty. Single years become irrelevant when you live for centuries. You previously lied about killing your parents. How did they actually die?"

Tried to stay relaxed. I had a clear answer out of him. I could figure out when he had been born, or at least the year he'd been turned. That history could come in handy. I wielded my answer like a weapon.

"It was a house fire. I was four. The firefighters found me with the matches. Technically, it wasn't a lie."

I decided to skip the 'why become a vampire' question. Too predictable, nor did I really give a shit. If I'd gone first, I would have continued along that vein, but I needed some information I could actively use.

"What are you most afraid of?"

"The Lake of Souls." He replied crisply. Before I could even start, he finished his third question by asking,

"If your parents died, who raised you?"

"A family friend."

* * *

The Lake of Souls.

It was a mythical place, kin to the river that ran through Hades. Except the big difference between the Greek myth and this one was there was no ferryman to safely take you across. Instead, your soul was left to pretty much pickle and decay in its own sin while your mind succumbed to madness.

I had not pegged Crepsley for being the religious type.

He also must have been born in 1820ish. What had happened about ten years after 1830 or 1840? Crepsley would have been ten or twenty by then his memory would be good enough to remember events from around then. Assuming of course that he was once human. Bram Stoker's dogma had taken a beating since the beginning of this crazy escapade…

But if I could ask Crepsley something unexpected to trip him up, that would be good. He'd fully expect me to chase down the Lake of Souls concept. It was so ancient and obscure that he must have thought I'd pursue it. There was no need to however. Tally had told me about it.

No, I needed to be clever. I needed to ask about something unexpected. Maybe something human. My mind continued to swim.

* * *

The five-day rest period was up. Even with the Quid Pro Quo battle looming, I had not lost sight of the original goal. Nor had Crepsley. After the sun had descended, he came up close to the fire and said,

"We have wasted enough time sight seeing. Tonight we will flit. My question for you is simple: would you like to Quid pro Quo now or later?"

"Now. I'll be too sick and you too tired to do it later."

Crepsley shot a withering look, but nodded. He didn't sit, so I looked up and asked,

"How much sun exposure would it take to kill a vampire?"

Crepsley gave a long, cat-like stare. Then,

"Depends on the time of day. At noon, only a few hours. During the morning or afternoon, the sun is not at full strength so that period of time would naturally increase." he replied.

There was a small smile, but I had to have done some kind of damage: he was running one finger over the Nile River scar again. This was good, there was a breech in his poker face and I had two more questions to-

"You stare at my scar a lot. Why?"

It was like getting hit over the head with a sledgehammer. _Shit_. Couldn't tell him about the scar stroking habit. He'd stop doing it. It was the only poker-tell he had that I knew. Losing it would be going to back to square one!

Yet, there was only one other thing I could tell him that wouldn't be a lie.

But it was also extremely embarrassing…

"…I use to draw a lot of portraits, so I've studied a lot of faces. It's interesting. What kind of symptoms would a vampire exhibit from too much sun exposure?"

He paused. His hand also left his face. Damn.

"…A vampire's eyes would hurt first. Any exposed skin would start to burn within ten minutes. They would grow steadily worse. Headaches would set in. After six hours, hallucinations and nausea. Lastly, fainting and finally death."

I nodded. Nice and specific. It also seemed to present like heat exhaustion. This made me a little sad. I'd found the whole burst into flames idea agreeable. It was upsetting to hear a vampire would just die like a human being suffering from prolonged heat syndrome.

"Why do you draw so many carcasses?"

I started at him, once again feeling like a puppet on a string. How did he _know_ about that? I kept all of my sketchbooks zipped up in my backpack. Used it as a pillow when I slept. I also only drew during the day when I was sure he was asleep. Maybe he wasn't really asleep? He'd been up talking to Gavner an hour before sunset. Clearly, just as a person can stay up all night, vampires could stay up all day. _Damn_, he must have poked through it when I went fishing-

"Please answer my question."

_Charna's guts-!_

"Dead animals don't move. You can also get close and record fine details. Study the texture of the feathers or fur. The way the skull sits on the spine or how the underlying muscle shapes the legs. How its paws or claws are formed. You can't get that kind of accuracy with an animal that's moving every thirty seconds: shifting, breathing, looking around. It needs to be still."

Needed to stop blabbing like an idiot. He was the _enemy._ He was the opponent I needed to vanquish. But then, the weakness might actually be a strength. I'm not normal. Morbidity and monstrosity could be valuable. Physically weaker, my only weapon was cunning. Perhaps it would make him doubt what he thought-

"That is not uncommon. I have seen many artists drawing cadavers at the morgue. They have studied human anatomy this way for decades."

_At the morgue_. Morgue. A red flag of alarm shot up.

"Why would you go to the _morgue_? Vampires need living blood."

"Yes, that is true. Up to a point. When the body dies, it does not die all at once. Some blood can be salvaged from a fresh corpse, if you know where to look…"

Crepsley reached into a jacket and pulled out an empty vial,

"You have seen me drink these, yes? I keep bottled blood for emergency purposes. However, it is a tricky procedure extracting and preserving it. To fill this would kill the average person. It is blood taken directly from the heart. For this, I go."

"Wait a minute, how do you do that? You can't just _walk_ in and ask-"

"That is a fourth question, isn't it? Come, the night is wasting."

* * *

The next afternoon, I was sketching Madam Octa again. She usually sits very, very still in her cage, unless it was mealtime. I don't know why, but I don't complain. Stillness is always good for a lengthy rendering. Definitely better and more relaxing to draw the delicate curve of her tightly curled mandibles and the soft black ink of each eye. Too bad I didn't have more paper and color pencils. Even if I only had yellow, red, and blue, it would have been wonderful to reproduce that reddish violet hue with layers of color. Instead, this dirt drawing with its strict recording would seem more like the work for an insectologist than an artist, but-

Suddenly, I stopped, startled.

Madam Octa is a strange lethal creepy disgusting hairy bug. I looked at her. An elegant and fascinating system of organs and exoskeleton was hunkered down in a shadow, waiting. The only problem with that is this was the _same thing. _It was the thing that had excreted the poison that killed five of my peers-_people._

Self-disgust flared. What the hell was I _doing_?

* * *

"Art's is a hobby. It's something I do to relax, that's all. Who was the 'they' Purl referred to?"

"Vampire hunters. Stakes and hammers have become outdated. Now, they mainly use automatic weapons and exploding devices. Hunters are very difficult to deal with, never mind dangerous. Why? Is the idea of killing vampires becoming appealing to you?"

I thought about it. Or pretended to. No, killing vampires wasn't alluring. Even if they were bloodsuckers, monsters. There was no urge for me to even _think_ of going there. All I wanted was to be prepared; to be _safe_. I'd seen enough death.

Had to but a harsher spin on it though.

"No. Too much trouble. I could care less whether you all lived or died."

Thought about asking why he wanted me to be a vampire. Didn't feel like it was time yet, so I saved it. Instead I leaned forward and said,

"I noticed the holy ground routine didn't effect you in the church that night you came to perform. How about fire or decapitation? Is that still effective?"

"_Yes. _It works on other living beings, does it not?" He replied, coldly, "I've told you, we are far from immortal. Vampires die very often. It comes with the life. Who gave you the dagger?"

"My uncle."

* * *

_Frogs again. Thousands of colors, staring eyes. Slimy to touch. Bleh. Floor is made of dirt, yet there are intricate woven rugs. Some of the walls are bear. Too bare. Looping crayon lines. Fruit on a low table. Strawberries. Sweet. Adult chit-chat._

'_I'm not sure what to do. Her family is abusive.'_

_ 'And you think you can give her a better life?'_

_ Braddock appeared, white as a sheet because the blood had been leeched from him. With one hand he pressed his index finger to his lips in a 'hush' gesture. It was pointless. Beneath his elbow, his torso had been ripped open and bullfrogs were croaking in there._

The dreams were getting worse.

* * *

"And you just wriggle your fingers."

"Yeah, like this." I demonstrated, "The fish thinks it's an insect or something. Swims right up to you. All you had to do then is brush his stomach once and make the snatch. It works almost every time…now, apart from flitting, inhuman strength, and healing spit, what other abilities do vampires' possess?"

Crepsley shifted. Poked the fire.

"…We can exhale a gas that knocks humans out. That is how I dealt with the man in the church. Our teeth and nails are also much tougher than a human's and our blood makes us less sensitive to the cold. What was the name of this family friend who raised you?"

"Taillefer Bonheur. I called him Uncle Tally." I replied snappish. Plowed ahead, "So you can't shape shift into wolves or bats or hypnotize people. What about telekinesis? You snapped your fingers and summoned a chair once-"

Crepsley stopped scratching his scar to smother a smile.

"Vampires are not capable of telekinesis. What was your guardian like?"

"You didn't answer my question-"

"Yes, I did. You asked if vampires were capable of telekinesis. You did not ask me how I moved the chair. Answer my last question."

Annoyed, I shifted one of the rocks by my foot closer to the flames. Why did he keep going back to that? Did he recognize how much it irritated me? Uncomfortable was too tame a word. Instead, it always felt like my skin had shrunken two sizes too small. I hated sharing things about Tally with him.

Crepsley was good at this game.

"…He raised me like I was his own. He acted like a father."

"That's insufficient-"

"Then be more specific with your question next time." I snarled.

* * *

This was bad. The vampire's thought process was still uncharitable. While I openly focused on dissecting all of his possible strengths and weaknesses, his line of questioning, when not probing Tally like an open sore, was all over the place. For me, there was no need to exert much subtly. Asking questions about capability would prove only natural, especially since I was human. Nor did I have the luxury of wasting questions.

That's where Crepsley had the advantage. Humans were prey: he already knew all of my species' weaknesses. Yet, this was Quid Pro Quo, you tell me things and I tell you things. No one enters into a bargain without first wanting something. The point in the game was to be able to stand toe-to-toe with him. Instead, he was artfully keeping whatever he really wanted to know well concealed.

He did this by making his questions seem to operate on mere _whim. _This was clearly a diversion, a way to mask what he really wanted to know. By jumping around so sporadically, it would be impossible to figure out the answers that really interested him. Clever really, especially since I understood the method and still could do very little against it. All I could really do was make educated guesses.

For example, I knew there was no way in _hell_ he'd really be interested in what I was reading, what my family was like, what my favorite food was, or if I knew any card tricks. Obviously, these were questions meant to toy, tire, or in Tally's case, cause emotional discomfort.

Then, occasionally, there were the other questions. Questions that signified he could be _extremely_ observant, and these were meant to do the opposite, to rattle my thoughts and shatter focus. He'd pull these out in mid conversation like a cat batting a trapped mouse,

"-I don't _know._ I just bite my thumb when I think. Other people play with their hair…" _You stroke your scar_, I thought but never said.

In total, most of the questions were completely useless. He _had_ to be biding his time. How could the meager dull personal information I had to offer possibly interest to a vampire?

Or, and it was the only thing I could think of, he was interested in finding all my buttons. What questions triggered what emotions; that could be useful for future manipulation. After all, mapping out a person's brain was one step closer to completely controlling them. Psychology can be a really bitch when wielded by the wrong hands.

But Charna's guts_,_ he did it so _casually_. Most of the time it sounded like idle curiosity. I finally snapped when, while eating rabbit stew, he pointed his fork at me and asked,

"Do you know how to play the flute?"

I stared at him.

"How is _that_ pertinent?"

"Do I need to give a reason? If not, you are breaking the rules. You must answer, regardless."

_Fine._ Two can play at this game. Crepsley put his fork back in his mouth.

"I don't know how. Can vampires have sex?"

There was a loud snapping sound. He froze for a fraction of second, eyes wide. The shock was comical. In the eighteen hundreds, woman were just learning to explore sexuality. I only knew that because I'd read a little Virginia Wolfe in English. It had been a blind shot in the dark, but it seemed Crepsley had not yet shrugged off that gentleman's sensibility. It was very hard to keep a straight face-

The amusement vanished instantly, however, when after putting down the handle, he calmly pulled the pronged part of the fork out of his mouth. He'd bit it in half. By _accident._

Charna's guts!

"…Vampires cannot reproduce in that manner, but we are capable of the action. Bonheur, what was his occupation?" Crepsley asked.

_Capable_. The vampire wasn't making eye contact, instead poking at the fire. Also, he'd asked a blatant question about Tally. Usually, he tried to be tactful when he snooped for information about Tally. Also, his face was kind of red…

…Huh. This wasn't a weakness I expected. I mean- vampires were usually toted as sex gods. Weird. I briefly toyed with the idea of antagonizing him more-_what's your favorite position?_ -but decided it might be better to save that line of questioning for a rainy day.

"He was into metal working. Odd jobs mostly. He'd sell a lot of his wares to various collectors and provided replicas for some museum displays."

"What kind of wares?"

I grinned wickedly at him.

"That's four."


	13. II: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I believe the future is only the past again, entered through another gate."

-Arthur Wing Pinero (1855 - 1934)

Mirkwood's darkness ended at the edge of a sea. I could smell the salt in the air before we even hit the coast, but the sight was still a shock. Cool, sapphire blue waves nibbled against the rocky beach beneath gray skies. A thick cotton wool fog wafted, and exposed a distant black smudge of land across the even dark blue water.

Paint was made for places like this.

Still, I should have paid more attention to geography. As beautiful as the sight was, it presented no viable clues to where exactly we were. I brooded on this as the nausea passed, perched on one of the larger boulders. So, what? The Black Sea? Or was that closer to Greece or Italy?

Because it was a weakness if I didn't know. For every step into the wilds was another further from all humanity. At some point, turning back might even be impossible.

"We do not have to cross." Crepsley announced, and then smirked when I flinched.

"We will stick to the coast until we reach the mountains."

I looked over my shoulder, startled. This was the first time Crepsley had dispensed information regarding the trip.

"Many humans live along the coast. This location is remote, but keeping watch will be necessary. Especially during the day."

Oh. Of course. My role was guard dog.

* * *

I should have taken him more seriously.

Another couple of foreign words popped up. The man bellow me in the heavy wool jacket barked something to his companions and adjusted his rifle to sit more comfortably on his shoulder. A boy, no more than thirteen, came running while the other two men calmly walked. They talked. The dialect was hard to place. Sounded Finnish, which was a shame. They'd taught French and Spanish in high school. Not enough to be fluent, but to pick up a word or two. Finnish-or anything else was a complete mystery.

Not that that mattered much. They knew somebody had been here.

I'd left my pack down below, out in the open. Crepsley had reacted better, having taken refuge a dozen feet away beneath the shadowy cover. I could see him from my position, up only fifteen feet and clinging to a tree branch. Honestly, even lying completely flat behind a scattering of rocks, I have no idea how they missed the red splotch of his coat.

Definitely not vampire hunters, despite the weaponry. These were civilians. They were far more comfortable hunting deer than clever blood sucking beasts. Their stances were relaxed, not tense and vigilant. Had they been the later, they would have caught us.

Peering through the foliage, I watched the first man pick my pack up and open it. Curiosity was a bitch. I'd considered drawing my dagger and trying to scare them off, but there was the boy.

My fingers brushed the bone handle _but there was the boy_.

The sketchbooks came out with a rustle of paper. Then the photo album emerged next. That warranted more attention. This made sense. People are more interested by images of other people. My sketchbooks were mostly filled with trees, dead animals, and a few sketches of Steph when she felt like posing. The photos on the other hand…

Felt sick and twitchy with tension. Braddock's face kept flashing vividly. The kid's hair was a little darker, but his eyes were the same blue shade. A few pages flipped loudly, but not loud enough to drown out my heartbeat. There was more conversation. The boy wandered away, bored. One of the other men pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and muttered a few more lines. I watched the boy very carefully. He was about seven feet from Crepsley.

If he got any closer, intervention would be required.

Instead, three feet from the vampire, the kid picked a nearby maple, unzipped his fly, and took a piss where he thought no one could see him.

A chuckle hit the air.

One of the men beneath me took out a picture of my mother and said something flippant. Gestured to his chest. At once, a low bubbling anger swelled, but I held it off. Murmuring, muttering, eons passed. The kid finished and returned to the group. Whined something. The other three men grumbled, but replaced the book and started west, away from the coast and back into the woods.

Waited…

When all trace of them finally vanished, I scurried back down the trunk. Pulled the album back out, fingers still shaking. Had to check. Flipped through, but found all the photos were still there. All fifty-six of them. There was a smear on the left bottom corner of my mother's high school photo, though. I licked my thumb and tried to wipe it off.

"Did they take anything?" A voice asked from behind.

Flinched. Then I realized who had spoken-

"_Damn it, Crepsley!_ Don't sneak up on me like that!" I shouted, glaring. No trade mark blank look. Crepsley had his eyebrows raised. Before he could say anything, I snarled,

"And what the hell are you doing up and about anyway? The _sun's_ out!"

It was. Unlike the day we left Mirkwood, the canopy was a much brighter green and patches of the forest floor were speckled with sunlight. Crepsley had carefully tucked himself close to the trunk of the nearest tree. It was out of the sun's reach, but not by much.

"It is _Mr._ Crepsley." He said. Then added, colder, "_One_ of us has to be alert for both our sakes."

"You mean _your_ sake. I'm still human."

"They still could have harmed you."

"They're humans. They wouldn't have done anything."

"Hopefully. That is not always the case when it comes to men." He replied, lowly.

I started at him like he'd completely lost his mind.

"_They had a kid with them!_ They wouldn't have done anything!"

The vampire said nothing. Instead, the whole argument was in the look: 'what a naïve little girl you are'. Like I hadn't heard or s-seen things I'd love to have wiped out of my head. Arrogant bastard! Besides-

"I could have handled it. I had my knife."

"And no idea how to wield it." He scoffed.

Something inside snapped. I dropped the album, twisted around, and swung my dagger.

I was not _prey. _Especially not in front of _him._

Yet the spot was empty. Only a few scattered leaves remained.

"Your reaction time is too slow." Crepsley said from directly behind me.

I spun around again. The landscape was empty of that red coat. How was he _doing_ that? There were huge patches of sunlight scattered across the forest floor. It was noontime: the sun was at its peak.

How could he move that fast without hitting them?

Unless he wasn't dodging them. If you moved faster than the human eye…well exposure like that might be chum change.

"You're a vampire. Humans aren't that fast." I growled.

"They were carrying firearms." Crepsley replied, "Even vampires have difficulty dodging bullets. I could see you. You were in no condition to fight; you had no idea how."

"And you do?"

"I have a certain amount of experience."

That pissed me off. The way he tried to sound so damn _modest_ about it. Typical.

"If you're so wise, then why don't you teach me?" I sneered.

He wouldn't. Tyrants aren't that stupid when it comes to their subjects. They don't give their slaves a way to rebel. That would be counterproductive.

"I will if you ask politely."

I snorted. This was a trick, "In exchange for what?" I didn't dare suggest anything. He didn't need any more ideas.

"Nothing. If you were educated that will be useful to me."

Rage boiled over. The _arrogance! _

"Will it now?" I asked, "What if I decide to kill you? Would it be useful then? Maybe one morning, while your sleeping I'll take you by sur-"

"_Would you like to learn or not?_" Crepsley snapped.

It was the second time he'd snapped. Ever. The first was the night I killed Wolf. Suddenly, I remembered the gravity of the danger. I forgot exactly _how_ dangerous my opponent was. Sure, I'd been quizzing the shit out of him and calling him 'vampire' and yet forgotten that he still had the capacity to rip me apart if he felt so inclined. What had he said to Steph? He could break her bones like twigs?

And here I was _antagonizing_ him. _Charna's guts!_

Even if he did teach me how to fight, there was still no chance in hell a creature like me could even touch him. His offer was genuine, the arrogant prick...

Yet…

The knife blade gleamed bright like liquid silver. Not long ago it had been stained red, buried deep into the flesh of a man and claimed his life. The same man that haunted persisted to give chase and remind my inescapable fate and me of what I was.

The blade slid back into its hilt anything but fluidly. It seemed to buck and skitter, as if it didn't want to return to its cavern. My fingers felt cold, but I took a breath and said slowly,

"I've already-" _murdered"-_killed a man. People die around me…"

After Wolf's death, Tally's knife was not to ever leave its sheath again. If Tally had not made it, the weapon would have been discarded weeks ago. It should have been.

Yet the vampire made sure to point out _exactly_ what I'd agreed to. Peeling potatoes, cutting up celery, gutting fish, cutting down branches for cover, breaking door jams, opening cans, cutting loose threads: the role of the assistant could be intricate with all its little odd jobs. On top of that, I started to sharpen my pencils by hand when the sharpener broke.

And it was self-defense. Wolf had planned to kill me. Instead, I ended up killing him. I hadn't wanted him dead. Abrupt with no conscious choice, he'd just died completely by accident. There was no time to think.

However, sitting up in that tree, there had been _plenty_ of time. The thought had occurred in less than ten seconds. It went on for over two minutes before I realized was _considering _killing someone.

"Would it really be wise to be any more educated than I am now in handling a weapon?" I asked.

The vampire paused. When he spoke, his tone was different, more hushed,

"If you're trained to wield a weapon, then you will know exactly what it is capable of. You will know _exactly_ how dangerous it can be and what it can do to others. With that understanding, the chances of using a weapon in folly…decline significantly."

So, basically, the chances of killing someone accidentally decline. That said nothing about _intention_. Or did it? If you understand the amount of damage a weapon can do, then you might be equally inclined not to use it. Or what if it was the opposite case? What if the knowledge of that power made you _want_ to use it, what if it made you compelled to kill-?

A memory of Tally flashed in, smiling.

And then close at its heels, the mutilated ruin they left of him.

"…Alright. I will learn." I whispered.

"Then ask properly."

I glared at him. When he merely stood there and took it, I sighed. Bared my teeth in a vicious smile and asked, mockingly,

"_Mr. Crepsley_, would you ever be so kind as to teach me how to wield a blade?"

I expected some kind of protest or maybe even a smack over the head. Instead, he just looked sad and nodded before wandering off to find a better source of shade.

* * *

Four days before we'd see the witch.

Already covered in scratches, it had only been two fighting sessions and I ached. Never imagined sparring was this difficult. To think, I use to find the idea of this heroic in fairy tales, which seemed to gloss over all the blood, screaming cramps, and fierce biting hits that came with it.

Worse, he always _toyed_ with me. It was expected, he was a vampire after all, but the fact that he didn't have to use any of his vampiric power still grated my nerves. He never flitted. He never summoned anything. He _never even fought with a weapon!_ I always had my knife ready, yet he always approached bare handed. Weapons were optional for Crepsley. Instead, he incorporated some kind of karate and viper-like agility and accuracy. Couldn't say how many times I'd been flipped, lost my footing, or spun into the dirt. The body keeps count only with aches.

Yet, after such rigorous exercise, I slept like a baby. I had actually had two nights of dead to the world sleep.

And now, sitting out in the open on one of the large smooth water beaten stones that lined the seemingly endless beach, I felt strangely content. The land was beautiful and calm, my chores were done, and I had my drawings even having to watch over Crepsley while he slept wasn't as irritating as usual. I even felt good enough to sketch the vampire, something I never expected to do again.

As much as I loathed him, he still remained the God of all Drawing Models.

But this wasn't really surprising. Finding pleasure in recording the dramatic display or even shape of his face did not mean I had to like the character beneath it. No, there was just something bewitching about the set of his muscles, the skin, and the expression they formed: slightly agitated, but clearly asleep, blanketed by shade.

After six sketches, it turned out to be a nightmare.

His brow wrinkled, one corner of his mouth turned down, twisting his visage thunderous. Yet, the telling sign was in the stiffness of his jaw and how squeezed closed his eyes were.

I paused, curious. Vampires had nightmares? About _what_? At the top of the food chain, what did you have to fear? Then again, humans had thought themselves at the top and we still had nightmares. I had them constantly.

Nor were vampires all-powerful, so nightmares would be appropriate. I had asked every question possible, probing for the creatures' weaknesses and memorized every answer. Sunlight was the biggest threat. Vampire hunters were a close second, and only because they used automatic weapons. That was a weakness that could have easily been rectified, but according to Crepsley, vampire culture forbid the use them.

When vampires killed, they did so with their own strength.

Their own hand.

Nor did they fear the concept of death as humans did. Crepsley had said it was a disgrace to die of old age or of sickness. If a vampire thought himself close to passing, he most often would go and seek a more violent end, preferably in battle, than commit suicide or pass on naturally. With this so-called glorious death, they hoped to reach Paradise instead of being lost to the Lake of Souls. To die valiantly was the best death.

Because vampires, above all else, valued valor. Bravery, strength, and guts…

Kind of like Spartans.

The stress on battle and the fact that there were so few of them was very similar to the small city-state. As brutal as the Spartans were, their way of life persisted for over five hundred years until they tried to capture Thebes and ended up being defeated by the Athenians.

Well, according to my last social studies class...I think.

Yet, vampires didn't have this problem. The only threat to their existence was the vampire hunters, plain and simple. If the vampires ever decided to try and enslave the human race, we'd easily be conquered. Sure, there had to be more of us than them (there's always a higher ratio of prey to predators in nature; also it would be impossible to hide or feed so many of them without detection), but they were not only physically powerful, but clever too.

The real question was _how_ clever.

I was still trying to figure that out.

His head turned and the wrinkle in his brow intensified. After ten minutes, the nightmare didn't appear to be subsiding. I considering letting him suffer through it. When I didn't sleep, I was weaker. If he did not sleep well, he would easier to defeat. Advantages were hard to come by. This should be used-

"Crepsley."

The vampire woke up immediately. He sat up straight, that one tuff of orange hair had somehow scattered into a severe case of bed head. It was very nearly comical. Nearly. The effect was ruined because it was entirely too human.

Made sure to turn my back before he woke up much further. After a pause, I heard him ask, fuzzily. Had he been a man, I'd have laughed.

"…What is it?"

"Never mind. False alarm. Go back to sleep."

I bore the grumbling. He was only half awake, however, and slipped back into REM sleep within minutes. Flitting was still taking quite a toll on his body. Even if he was impossible to beat while sparring, he was still sleeping an hour longer each day. Letting him decline any further than this was irksome.

It felt like cheating.

* * *

Once again pain flared as a minor slash bit into my shoulder. I also missed him again. Spun around on my toes dirt-crunching, elbows bent and ready. Saw him clearly, yet despite several nights of this he was still damn fast. Lunged and the sharp steel edge found nothing but air again, whistling. He sidestepped as elegantly as a dancer. Worse, another cut bled across my upper arm. I ignored the blood.

"I don't know where he was from!" I snarled, "He never talked about himself. What makes the witch especially dangerous?"

Looked for Crepsley, waiting for his answer. The vampire was adamant about flitting ten hours a night. Sparing took about three. There ended up being a conflict with fitting in our Quid Pro Quo sessions. Crepsley hadn't cared to continue it. He wanted to focus on the sparing.

But I was stubborn.

"She does not like to be called a 'witch'." Crepsley said from behind me. Spun around fast. He didn't disappear. Smiling slyly, he took one effortless step backward avoiding the arch of my blade. I took another step forward, trying for his torso a second time. He stepped left and smacked my shoulder with one quick movement. It threw my balance off just enough. I hit the ground hard.

He was still going easy on me.

"Lady Evanna is very powerful. She is an expert fighter and capable of some very strong magic that all vampires learn to either respect or fear. Bonheur never mentioned a family of his own? No father or mother, siblings?"

I forced myself up out of the dirt. Gauged the five foot distance between us and decided to circle him. Kept my weapon at the ready.

"No, he never mentioned anyone. No one ever came either. His family must have hated him. I was one of only three people that attended his funeral. The other two happened to be our next-door neighbor and one of the detectives working on his murder. "

I did not attack. Had to try to make him come to me for a change. Going on the attack had proved pretty much useless.

"Vampires _fear_ her? That's interesting. Why should they?"

He obliged my goad and lunged. Lost my breath at the charge. I could still see him. He'd slowed down on purpose, yet I still couldn't react fast enough. He swiped at my left shoulder, spinning me around. He kicked out effortlessly, brushing my legs out form under me. Once again, my body went down like a house of cards. Not as gentle. Gawped like carp once or twice, stunned. That move was new.

"As I said, she is extremely powerful. She can bring down an opponent without even touching them. This along with the vampire blood in her veins makes her extremely deadly. Most would never dare challenge her to battle.

"Was Bonheur completely incompetent?"

I froze in mid crouch. _What?_

"Bonheur crafted daggers and swords, correct? He made your knife. Was he so dense as not master how to _use_ them? It was stupidity that killed him, was it not? If so, he got what he deserved…"

The monster came awake. It came out roaring.

Flew at him with a chest-rumbling growl. Crepsley decided to play chicken. Instead of making a swipe at his jugular, my hand made one sharp jab for his stomach. Rage soared, hot and bubbling like a cauldron. The vampire leaned out of the way expertly, but the blade slid along his coat, and cutting two threads loose. Triumph spiked. That was closer than ever before-

Then his arm descended in a chokehold. Thrashed on impulse.

"You are breaking the rules. Answer now." Crepsley said, unperturbed.

Tried to cut his arm at the elbow. Failed. Would have plunged the blade deep into one of my left cheek with that wild swing if he had not knocked me back with a playful jab upon withdrawal. Didn't realize it at the time. Too livid to realize his three questions were up. Seething rage twisted my head around and bloodlust screamed to bend him to my mercy.

Faked twisting right and darted left. Instead of using a linear stab, I targeted a wider area with one wide arc. It was a stupid move. He deflected the blow with the side of his forearm before following up by jamming two fingers into the hollow dip of my throat, just above the collarbone.

Choked. Worse, couldn't catch the next breath. Stunned, I could not turn around in time to save myself from yet another brisk kick my right calf.

Folded, spurting. Crepsley strolled, untroubled. Even panicking at the lack of air, I could still see everything. Watched as he shifted a few twigs in the fire before selecting a hefty piece of kindling and pulling it out. Flames danced on the red tip of the stick. Calmly, he tucked the cool part of the stick against his shoulder like a solider would his cradle his rifle. He returned at a slow pace, ambling and unhurried. Fear spiked in me. Finally got my throat to open back up. Got a breath, but it was agony. Like inhaling steel wool. Started coughing in hacks.

"No answer? Very well, you will have to answer two penalty questions. Question one: was it Bonheur that taught you to cuss like that?"

He waited.

I stared at him. What the hell did that have to do with _anything?_ Still, as far as penalty questions went, it was not worth being burned for. Opened my mouth, but my vocal chords refused to work. Gawped.

"Shake your head yes or no." He replied, irritated. Apparently this was expected. _Shit._ Damn. Started to rethink-

Crepsley swung the kindling from his shoulder into a more active position.

My head jerked once. A nod. Expected him to smile. He didn't. If anything, he frowned harder.

"Question two: was he marked like this?"

Crepsley raised his left hand, palm up, bared like a claw. It wasn't anything I hadn't seen before. He had ten fingers, very long sharp blade like fingernails, fingerpr-

His fingerprints were marred. Ten crescent scars stabbed the pad of each one. They would have been fascinating if they weren't an already familiar. I saw marks like everyday I woke, not as shiny but the same. The bastard had given me my own set, hadn't he? He'd tried to make me a vampire-

Froze.

He was asking if Tally was a vampire. _Charna's guts._ He was _asking-!_

Stomach dropped. No. _Please_ no. Didn't want to _go there._ There were already too many parallels! To many unanswered questions. He _could not_ be-

Yet my mind cast back without permission, looking for any kind of memory that would have his hands. Gestures swam up like exotic fish: jabbing a finger at me to do my homework. Displaying one of his newest creations, a small throwing knife with an octopus carved into the handle with soft careful fingers as if he were handling a newborn. Clapping loudly when I managed to finally sing one ballad from start to finish completely on my own. Open palms, offering a hug-

(his hands, palms up, slack on the floor, pale like marble. The acrid smell of the blood._ In Death May I Be Triumphant! _The never ending screaming, and the jeering which soon followed-)

Pain. Something bit into my shoulder. That was relief. Pain was well worth escaping the memory. Spared only a curious glance, expecting to see a red welt of a burn on my skin.

There was a white knuckled fist.

Blinked, startled. Looked up and found Crepsley's face way too close, four inches away expression still and strange. Grave. His eyes were bright and tinted orange with the firelight.

"Was he?" He asked.

I started back. Held that gaze. Direct eye contact: his was an aggressive and ceaseless demand for that information. An unavoidable demand to go _back there and-_

My skull smashed into the bridge of the vampire's nose. Immediately saw stars. Yet, I also managed the element of surprise and knocked him off balance. He fell backward onto the ground with a loud thud. I didn't bother to savor the sight. Instead, stood up and stumbled, jelly legged. Had to get away.

Dark. Timber and pine danced in thick in the air. Stomping, much too loud. After a dozen steps, I expected him to come flying after like a bat out of hell. Branches scratched at my face, arms, and legs. Leaves swished. Twigs snapped with startling volume. Every breath burned, yet no hands seized my shoulders-

Black laughter suddenly erupted, piercingly. Like a rabbit, I flung myself into a crouch, close to the ground. The sound threw me back, back in the dark pit of the closet, breathing in mothballs, hiding behind his suits and Tally was screaming. He was still screaming on and on, forever, despite how much I wished he'd just _die_. If he died it would _stop._ The pain would stop. It would stop-

But this was hell. Here, _it would never, ever stop_-

I cut myself, curling one arm around my knee. The knife was in my hand. I remembered I was in the _woods_, not in the closet-

Crepsley's voice boomed like thunder again, ripping the memory apart,

"RUN SMALLS! RUN AS FAR AS YOU LIKE! THERE IS NOWHERE TO GO! YOU WILL COME _CRAWLING_ BACK TO ME! SO RUN, FOOL, RUN!"

He laughed again, another long wicked cackle. It was a terrible laugh, but it wasn't _theirs_. It was Crepsley's, and far less caustic. I continued fighting forward faster. Even so, he was still a demon I couldn't tangle with. Tripped over a log and hit the ground without impaling himself. Scrapped my knee bloody, but rocketed back up and crawled until my feet found dirt again. Plunged into the darkness, batting low branches away. Without a plan and without a single rational thought, there was only the low drumming desperation for escape.

Any kind.


	14. II: Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Dreams that do come true can be as unsettling as those that don't."

-Brett Butler, 'Knee Deep in Paradise'

The sun crawled sluggishly, tainting the forest floor a hellish red instead of the golden majesty normally associated with sunrises. Logically, dawn was the time to stop and sleep for a few hours. After walking all night, a few miles of headway had to exist. During Crepsley's recovery period, this had been the protocol: travel all night, go to sleep when the light lavender of dawn brightened the dark edge of the land and wake at one or two.

But this is what he would _expect._

Even if the sun did hamper him, it did not stop him from traveling during the day. It would take little to no time to close the distance by flitting. It would tire him, but not enough to cause much damage.

Rest was not an option.

Instead, the daylight had to be taken to its fullest advantage if escape was to be even remotely possible. It wasn't of course, but there was hope. And hope can be a cruel, cruel bitch.

Drifted towards the east. It was better to get as far away from the coast as possible. Coast would be the first place he'd look because it was swamped with people. Finding people would have been the smart thing to do, but the idea frightened me. Staying away was important. Especially when they dropped like flies. The curse still hummed beneath my skin.

The sad truth was, despite everything, I nearly had nearly forgotten I was damned. For a few beautiful days, the notion hadn't even crossed my mind. Even if Crepsley hadn't died yet, it was still prevalent. Something like that doesn't wash off…

* * *

Normally, bird song would be prevalent or some small animal would crackle noisily through the underbrush. There was none of this. The trees simply stood like sentinels across the sloping ground, quiet and watchful. The only sound came when a breeze rolled through and the leaves chattered. All and all, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Any second now Hansel and Gretel would appear, laying down breadcrumbs.

And I would have gobbled them off the ground. A hunger headache had sunk its fangs in and refused to let go. Despite this, thoughts still came in and out. Too bad because thinking wasn't good right now. Avoiding the mental thorns was too difficult. Worse, this was a stupid idea. There was no thought at all put into it. Without orienting or even studying the landscape, without packing any food or water, it was a guaranteed failure. Might have been marginally better off with at least the backpack-

Stopped.

Turned around quickly and surged the way I had come. My backpack. _Left the album, the sketches, glasses-!_

_You'll come _crawling_ back to me!_

Pulled up a step short, staring at the path I'd come by. Heart thumped. Couldn't go back. Can't go back, that would be walking into the lion's den. Crepsley would be waiting, still demanding that answer. Can't go back. It would be worse to go back…

I cried.

* * *

I moved forward, meandering, for a day and a half.

Tried to force myself to sleep the first day, but couldn't. Instead, I came across a blueberry bush that still had half of its fruit left. After picking it clean, I kept moving until a Charlie horse set in like a bear trap. Settled for about an hour, scratching at the dirt to keep me sane. Then the dusk forced me upright and forward.

The night was hell.

By the next morning, I collapsed beneath a juniper tree and slept for three precious hours. Wolf chased me out twice, but it was the last nightmare that was the worse because it took place in the inky darkness, behind the coats, and Tally was just starting to start the next wailing crest. Braddock appeared, hunkered down in the closet next to me, a finger laid neatly over two lips, pointing upwards.

There was a man with a black hood over his head.

I woke up jabbering.

* * *

People die after seven days without food, three without water. No were near dying, but felt like I was. There was that inner voice yammering with self-disgust. Probably only made ten or fifteen miles max. Definitely not enough to secure freedom. Very soon, the vampire was going to pull me back like a cat playing with a mouse. All because of an ill-timed emotional outburst. Typical feeble-

A twig snapped before my step came down. Not alone. Despite the daylight, it was Crepsley. Panicked. I spotted a clearing and bolted on instinct. It was pointless, but still what else-?

Foot slipped. The ground wasn't flat. Pitching forward unexpectedly, heart hitting the roof of my mouth. Slid, then tumbled down a slope that I swear hadn't been there a second before. Flinging out my arms did nothing to stop the momentum. Rolled wildly, a victim of gravity, until I hit water headfirst.

It was deep. The aquatic whoosh roared briefly and sank like a stone. The cool clutch it was beautiful. Then instinct kicked in: _you're a land animal you need air stupid_. Kicked and came gasping back to the surface. Chorus frogs were croaking. Had to orient. Twisting back, I found a steep hill the way I'd come, but there was no red clad vampire on it. Actually, there was no one around at all.

The heart threatening to tare my breastbone out settled a little.

Imitate threat averted, I found the hill was also too sharp to climb back up; it was almost a cliff. Odder, treading water around in a circle, the clearing, which had been in sight moments before, wasn't here. Instead, there was just an open cave up on a hill.

Exhaustion. There was enough pond scum sitting on the water to make it look like grass. Despite this I dunked my head and drank. Pond water can make you very sick. Still, better than heat exhaustion. And it felt heavenly. Once I finished, I realized with my kind of luck, I'd get a stomach cramp and drown. Kicked towards the shore, brushing away lily pads. _Charna's guts_ the frogs were loud. There were a lot of them too, over fifty in sight, squatting on lily pads or drifting past on a floating moss covered log-

Frogs. Déjà vu hit hard. Had I fallen asleep? No, I wouldn't feel like shit if it was dreaming…

A few of the amphibians jumped off in avoidance. Many more kept their perches and seemed to stare. Kind of odd behavior, but I wasn't a frog expert. Halfway there, the croaking finally stopped, much to my delight. The noise had gotten irritating very quickly. Swam up far enough in shore to rest my socks on the sandy floor. _Great_, I'd lost my sneakers. Wadded until the water was at chest level when a voice spoke,

"Did you have a nice swim?"

There was a blonde woman standing on the bank. For an insane moment, I thought I it was Steph. Then I realized the shape of her face and her eye color was wrong. Tall, perhaps five eleven or so, slender, she was absolutely gorgeous in that romance novel kind of way. Even the wind seemed to be infatuated, playing with her hair and long white sundress. She was smiling, teeth perfectly white and straight. Lastly, I noticed her eyes were an absolutely wonderful shade of brown.

Froze. Stared at her, horrified.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trespass-"

"Nonsense. You are as welcome as you were before. Now come out of there, you're upsetting the frogs." She said.

Limbs protested, but I managed to drag myself out of the water quickly, dripping. Still felt lightheaded and wasn't listening to what she was saying. Instead, I said,

"Ma'am, I'm-"

Without warning she grabbed my face with one hand, expression turned hawkish. Her fingernails were long and sharp, but it was a fierce stare that was scary. It was a look for locating prey. Alarming. Worse, my first assumption was wrong: her eyes were definitely green. How had I screwed that up?

She let go.

"As I thought. Come with me." She said, shuffling off.

Dumbfounded, I found all I could do was follow.

It felt like a bad idea, but there was something familiar about the tone. Familiar and wonderful. Bold, it commanded both complete obedience and confidence. After more than five weeks of out of control guesswork, it was a relief to hear that kind of voice barking in my ear again…

Yet, there was still three good hours of light left with which I could get at least a few miles out off. Even more importantly, I could sense something was amiss. The chances of running into someone wasn't surprising, the coast was still lurking close by. Nor was the fact that she could speak English really that odd; Europeans devoted more effort to being bilingual than Americans.

Kept poking, but couldn't find anything _specifically _wrong…

Then it occurred to me that she might be the witch. Automatically, I watched her fingers, checking for the marks. Crepsley had said the witch not only handled magic but was also a vampire. Witches weren't my forte, but I knew a lot about vampires now.

The pads of her fingers were unmarked. Even more convincingly, she had ventured out into daylight and hadn't burned. She was definitely human.

Then the mouth of the cave appeared. She entered without pause and padded about two feet into the shadow of the entrance before she noticed I'd stopped. There it was, red flag. The woman turned around.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Inside. You need to change into some dry clothes."

"You _live_ in here?" I asked incredulously. Who ever heard of a supermodel living in a _cave?_ Second red flag. She answered fairly casually, however,

"Yes. The stone retains temperature much better than wood. It also stays very warm during the winter and cool during the summer months. The chances of it collapsing are also rather remote, don't you think?"

Her voice was pleasant. She continued forward down the tunnel-like interior. Didn't want to go in. This wasn't normal. My feet betrayed me anyway, edging down the pathway.

"…What about bats?" I asked, trying to buy some time.

"They don't like to fly around here. There isn't much for them to eat."

That made sense, especially with the size of the frog population outside. Speaking of frogs, croaking echoed. A few appeared as if on cue, hopping up _out of the tunnel_.

Just like my dream. I'd watched a lot of national geographic, but couldn't remember ever hearing about frogs living in caves. The lady paid them no mind. They brushed past our bare feet without concern, as if human beings were a common occurrence. As if they were domesticated. Even more surprising was the markings on their backs. They almost looked like-

One that landed on my foot. The animal's skin was slick and the pitter-patter of its heartbeat was very clear in its chest. Ignored that. Instead, I focused on the brown spectacled spots and found a distinct face there: a wrinkled old man with only one ear. Looking down, I saw there were many other portraits too, more than a dozen faces hopping past.

My jaw dropped.

"Do you like them? I know the skin tone is off. I can't seem to find that many frogs with the right color to create the right flesh tone."

I gawked. She smiled, pleased, and added,

"Breeding frogs is a hobby of mine. I pick individuals with strong markings and look for the right combinations. It's really not that difficult. This way, please."

I followed, dazed.

She _bred them?_

* * *

Soaking in a claw foot tub in what looked like a medieval bathroom, I realized my brain must have been fried. The wondered never seemed to cease. A tall marble basin acting as a sink had an accompanying mirror next to the tub. A few feet beyond that, a large red tapestry covered the opening of this of this particular cavern. There were no doors.

The cave was also loaded with passages. On the way in, we had passed a lavish hall. It was a room that belonged inside a palace or a castle. Several large cushions had been placed around a low chestnut coffee table at its center. Along the walls, large oil lamps burned between paintings, most of which were portraits, but occasionally there was a landscape or two. Passing this, there were at least five more different passages that broke off before she lead me into the bathroom.

It didn't make sense.

None of it was even remotely like a makeshift laboratory. Years of experimentation would have been required to create something like the frogs. It meant she was some kind of zoologist or scientist, right? If this were the case, then it would make sense that she'd live on sight, close to the pond. Though, I'd only seen two rooms: maybe her workspace was further back. The elegance of the place didn't bug me that much; she seemed like a diva. It was just really weird to come across a diva _scientist_…?

Crawling out of the tub, I dried off, and started to change into the dry clothes she had brought in. My clothes were dripping on a drying rack. Not far away the pictures I'd been carrying on my person were also drying on towels. The photographs and Tally's drawing survived, but my stomach had dropped when I saw Steph's newspaper clipping had turned to mush.

For a minute, I thought I had really lost her. Then I remembered that my friend wasn't dead. One day soon, I would see her again. This kept me from curling up into a ball and sobbing on the spot.

* * *

Fruits and vegetables buried the coffee table, a meal meant for Bacchus himself. I stared at it, eyes prickling as another wave of familiarity washed over. _Charna's guts_. My stomach growled, another country heard from. It was an extremely bad idea, but hunger compelled me to grasp an apple.

Its juices sang across taste buds. Heaven.

My hostess was still nowhere in sight.

Hesitated. Then bolted down four handfuls of strawberries, two oranges, and a cluster of grapes. Had to stop or I was going to make myself sick. A tall pitcher contained water and a few crystal glasses were placed upside down next to it. I'd drank a lot from the bathroom faucet, but drank a bit more out of a glass. Reinforce the civil and attempt to banish the last couple of days.

Finally feeling full, I picked out a cushion and waited.

And waited. Waited…

* * *

_Frogs. Frogs everywhere. It's not an intestinal track. It's the hallway tunnel, stretching long and dark. It's the craggy walls and the strange fragrance of the place. It's the echoing voices:_

'_It's a bad idea. Children are physically fragile. Have you considered the possibility of accidentally harming her? You'd have to watch yourself constantly. You'd be like a bull living in a china shop.'_

'_I know. I don't intend to _keep_ her. You think I'm crazy? But she can't go back _there._ Maybe I could look after her until I can find a suitable guardian. You know, someone that will take care of her…'_

'_And sooner or later, she would be found and returned to that family. That is human nature.'_

'_Damn it, Lady, I'm asking you for help. Is there _anything_ I can do?'_

'_You could-'_

* * *

Didn't get nearly enough sleep. My limbs felt heavy despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Couldn't afford to sleep right now. Couldn't even really afford to linger here either. I have no idea how long I'd slept. Had to get the hell out of here. Get moving. _Now_. A moving target it harder to find than a static one-

And yet, this woman welcomed me into her home. I couldn't leave without paying some kind of gratitude…

So, against instinct, I lingered. Inspected the room curiosity until my eyes hit the paintings. Buildings, portraits, landscapes, all were beautiful craftsmanship. Richly detailed, they all looked chiefly Neoclassical or Rococo, though there was something Picasso-like near the hallway. No, the most eye-catching was of a portrait of a man dressed entirely in red. At first, I immediately thought of Crepsley, but the face was completely different. Scarred like his, but different, different personality…

The brushwork was exquisite as was the texture of the paint.

"You're interested in art I take it?" my hostess asked. She was standing at the entrance of the room, a teapot and cups in hand.

Nose two inches away, inspecting the man's left pant leg, I quickly stood back embarrassed.

"Hobby."

"Ah. I see. Just a hobby" The woman replied sarcastically. Yet, the way her lip curled suggested amusement. She placed two porcelain teacups at the end of the table with her right hand. Carefully with the left, hot tea poured into both cups from a matching teapot.

Something had changed in her appearance. Maybe it was her dress. It was completely white. There was another odd thing. It wasn't practical. No workingwoman in her right mind would wear that. She'd wear field clothes. Hell, studying frogs, it would get absolutely covered in mud in two seconds flat. Not a normal scientist anyway. Goes back to the diva thing- now a diva would have this level of sophistication, claw foot tubs, paintings, and such beautiful glassware...

A grant definitely wouldn't cover this.

Without looking up, she added,

"I'm not surprised. It took me forever to get the crayon off the walls after your last visit. Would you like one sugar or two?"

My brain stopped.

"Wh-?"

Something strange happened. When she looked up, there was a bit of hair on her upper lip. Even scarier, instead of having just brown or green eyes, she now had one of each color: green on the right, brown on the left.

"Is something the matter, dear? You look very pale."

_Charna's guts, I had to be hallucinating._

"Uh, I-I guess I'm still feeling a bit-"

Stopped. What was I _doing_? It had to be dark by now! The vampire was free to move as he pleased. It would be child's play to follow my trail. It would lead him here, to this place.

"Th-thank you for your hospitality, but I should really go..." I said, trying for a grateful smile-

Yet, after I blinked she was two feet shorter. The dress was smaller, nearly transparent. Her eyes were still two colors. They'd switched though, brown on the _right_, green on the _left_. She was frowning,

"You're still dehydrated and famished. Sit down."

She was right. But-

"I'm-I'm in some trouble and I don't want to drag you into it, especially when you've been so kind to me." I said, shaking my head, "I've already put you at risk by just coming here-"

"What kind of trouble?" She asked.

It was a pointed question; aggressive, not trying to be sympathetic at all. That sounded _exactly_ like Steph. I'd have laughed, except the woman's eyes flipped back: green on the right and brown on the left. She also seemed to continue to shrink. It was very hard to concentrate. Tried to make a stride for reality, or at least what was left of it,

"Don't ask. Trust me, the less you know, the better off you are. If you really want to help me, just point out the direction of the nearest road and-"

"Nonsense. This is my house. No one can touch you here if I don't want them to."

Shot a weak grin. _Damn_ she was feisty. Wonderful, but also worrisome. If Crepsley showed up and demanded to know which direction I went, this woman would probably fight him. He wouldn't kill her, but she might do something rash and force him into regrettable action.

"And I bet that would normally be the case, but not with this guy. Trust me, this guy's _unbelievably_ strong. He makes a world champion weightlifter look like a novice. You don't-"

The woman laughed.

"Trust _me._ Physical violence is for morons. Unruly vampires have tried to break into my house on a regular basis for the last five hundred years. You don't have to worry-"

My heart tried to crawl up my throat. She paused, perfectly able to read the look on my face. There was no hiding it. I floundered, tried to take a step backward, but my legs refused to work. The shifting woman set the teapot carefully on the table.

"…Ah, I see you have stopped deceiving yourself. You still don't remember me do you?"

I looked at her. Looked _down_, not up. The beautiful woman was gone. In her place was a small squat figure, naked apart from the ropes that bound her breasts and covered her hips. Above that there was a bushy beard, thick mustache, and those miss-colored eyes. She was as ugly as sin.

And despite the fear screaming in me, I would have _killed_ for my sketchbook.

"Wh-wh-"

"My name is Evanna."

Suddenly, the mental light switch kicked on.

"_Charna's guts, you're the _witch_?"_

Her reaction was immediate. One minute I was standing. The next, my body was pinned to the floor. The squat strange woman darted forward, grabbed my hair, and yanked my head up off the stone, eyes blazing. Her face twisted into something monstrous, animalistic. Sharp teeth and hot breath hit. A wolf-like maw seemed to appear. My stomach flopped.

"_Who told you I was a _witch_?_"

"Nuh-nobody. I just thought-"

Her eyes narrowed.

"_I am a shaman, priestess, or sorceress. I am not a _witch_, understand me?"_

"Y-yes, Ma'am…sorry."

After a long probing stare, she relaxed her hold. The savage appearance dissipated, a calmer expression surfacing in its wake. My heart continued to knock on my ribs however, mouth tasting of copper as she brushed a few of stray locks away. Her fingernails were very sharp.

"I believe you are. Apology accepted."

She kissed the top of my head before withdrawing. Felt dazed, and pinched my nose to stave it off. Then froze; I could move. Scrambled up to my knees. The tunnel out was insight, only a few feet away-

"If you run, I'll pin you again. I told you before, you shouldn't be moving around…" Evanna's voice drifted, sweetly.

Considered it. The tunnel was about twenty meters long. It was another few feet just to get out of the room. Slowly turning, however the table was within grabbing distance only a few feet behind me. Selecting a few pieces of fruit, those multicolored eyes seemed distracted…

…and yet they weren't.

They definitely weren't.

I was trapped.

* * *

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I watched the wi-_sorceress_ warily. She selected an orange, sat down on one of the cushions, and peeled it. When she looked up, I took a dutiful sip from the teacup she'd given me. It tasted terrible. Not because it was poisoned. It was a strange cocktail of juices that wasn't sitting on my tongue right at the moment. It was punishment for not eating.

Neither of us had spoken in more than an hour.

Urgency hung heavy like a fog. If I didn't get out of here _now_, Crepsley would catch me. This was enemy territory. He'd said earlier the wi-sorceress were friends. She'd take his side. She was a vampire, so she'd take his side.

Is what I first thought.

Confusion can really make a brain tick over.

Yet that didn't seem to be true. I'd seen her walk out in full daylight without exhibiting heat exhaustion symptoms. Nor did she have the marks. But Crepsley had said she had vampire blood, so she must be a vampire.

Unless she was a dhampir. Or perhaps vampiric sorceresses had their own book of rules. Or a lack of them. Or just had the means to bypass the normal criteria. Then again, vampires didn't exactly have to ask permission to entire dwellings or rendered immobile by moving water-

"Have you remembered yet?" The priestess asked, before eating her last orange slice. It took a second to come back to reality, or this twisted version of it. She was still a short squat woman with the two colored eyes. This was probably her real form,

"Remembered what?"

The sorceress sighed, "I see. This really _is_ going to take awhile. Would you mind if we switched to wine?"

She got up and I expected this Yoda-like walk but she proved more gracefully than that. When she got to the table, two dark green bottles stood side by side on it. They definitely hadn't been there a minute ago. Using her long nails, she popped the cork of one off and poured some into a crystal glass.

For some reason, watching the red liquid gurgle out frayed my nerves to their limit.

"Ma'am, I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding. I've-"

"Alright, alright, I can see you're reluctant to talk about it. Why don't we move to something else if it makes you that uncomfortable, shall we?"

Anger immediately bubbled up. Yet before I could snarl, Evanna asked,

"Why were you coming to see me?"

I blinked at her. Then it came back like a bolt of lightning. The curse. This was the soul crushing moment. Anxiety zipped, nerves humming like electrical cables with tension, but managed to ask,

"C-can you take this curse off me?"

Evanna immediately laughed. Nausea hit, yet I managed to shoot to my feet. Threat or no threat. My eyes were already prickling, damn it-

"Good bye-"

"Darcie, do you know what a curse is?" the sorceress asked. I froze.

"No."

Evanna leaned forward. Both of her eyes turned suddenly bright. Her voice also dropped slightly, twisting into a soft tone that was completely unnerving. Not exactly a whisper, it sounded like a voice that been places, seen things.

It hadn't seemed possible, but it was creepier than Crepsley's.

"Curses," she said slowly, "do not behave like a sickness. Curses are more like a thinking entity that cannot be tricked, reasoned, or bargained with. It never eats, it never sleeps: it only exists to ruin the mind, body, and soul it is set loose on. Curses are a very nasty business."

"…how do you get rid of one?" I whispered, mouth dry.

"You don't."

Evanna sipped her wine, then said,

"The person that casted it is the only one that can banish it. Usually, they would have to appease the curse with something, either a personal item, or with a phrase, or with both."

So… all I had to do was find out who cursed me? Beg them to take it off? Then I could have a happy and normal life like everyone else? But the real question was who could have done it? It had to have happened ages ago, and started with the fire. What does a toddler do to incur enough wrath to call for a curse? Unless my parents-

Then Evanna added,

"But I wouldn't be concerned about that if I was you. You're not cursed."

Stopped. Horror rose, but anger punched it out,

"_So-so what? Are you telling me this is just my-my _fate_?"_

Evanna said nothing. Instead, she just froze with the glass at her lips. She said nothing, but just stared.

And for some reason, Crepsley immediately came to mind. I thought about how our paths kept crossing after Steph had met him in the dressing room. He'd broken into my apartment and I survived. Then, later when I found him, he tried to _force_ me into becoming a vampire. Finally, he'd saved me from Wolf and even now, as hard as I tried to get away from him, I was still stuck in this little room, unable to escape the inevitable discovery.

And then there was Tally. Everything kept circulating, going back to him like some huge nasty spider web. Sticky strands ensnared while that moment in time just crawled closer...

_History repeats itself._

So, what? Fate decided to kill nine people I knew? Isolate me? Fate _decided_ to send Crepsley? Fate decided I needed to cast off what was left of my humanity and become a vampire? I _had_ to become a vampire-?

_Promise me you'll live life to the fullest._

"This is complete bullshit."

Shock caused her beard to bristle. That was strangely encouraging. I laughed out loud. It sounded like glass cracking. You notice when your estimated lifespan shrinks dramatically before your eyes,

"You heard me: bullshit. Predetermined fate is bullshit. Think about it, we're living in a world full of choices. I have a choice. I can either stay human or I can become a vampire. It is not my fate to become a vampire." I said.

A giggle rose. Dangerously out of control, but those two colored eyes were intent with a hard edge. Some kind of anger. Oh yeah, finally somebody was going to put an end to all this shit. If I were lucky, she'd strike me down with a lightning bolt or something, poof scorched earth…

Still, someone had to hear this. There would be no peace until it was out,

"I refuse to believe that, just as I refuse to believe that nine people were suppose to die_ or that it was my uncle's fate to be viciously murdered. Do you understand? I promised him! Can you see that? I promised him I'd live as best as I was able and I _keep_ my promises!"_

Stopped. Suddenly it was too quiet. Evanna turned placid in mere seconds,

"Did you watch him die, Darcie?" Her voice sounded oddly calm, yet it still hit like a speeding trailer truck. Immediately, I saw the darkness. Smelt the mothballs. The nausea came quick, but I did not vomit.

"Did you?" She asked again, softly.

"…No." I stared at the embroidery work on the rug. It was full of small details, little cherry colored frogs and holy leaves, alternating. Got to love distractions. Now was not the time to go back _there_-

"Was he a vampire?" I whispered. She said nothing. I sighed,

"Just tell me, please. I need to hear it from someone else."

Evanna remained silent for a few more minutes, but I knew that avoidance was fruitless. An answer would come. An answer would come because I really didn't want to know, but had to.

"…Yes." She replied. Her voice was soft. "He was."

_Yes._ Last night the world would have imploded at that answer. Nothing happened here. Time kept ticking and everything remained untouched. The sorceress and I continued to exist. There was no further agony. If anything, a hushed note settled over the world.

Then I realized I was holding my breath. Let it out, then groping for some kind of foothold, the next question flung itself out,

"…Is that why they killed him? Because of what he was?"

"I cannot tell you that."

Her eyes were still like a cobra's. Somber, yet clearly dangerous. Yet this wasn't outrage. This was something else and involved a certain amount of discomfort. If not for the fact that she'd previously pinned me without lifting a finger, I would have gone for her throat.

"_Why?_"

"It's not my place."

The tone was icy. It suggested exactly how feeble the human body was. However, both of us remained unscathed and whole. Rock could have melted with the heat burning in the room. Despite this, the monster was awake and watching. Ready to strike at a moment's notice, powers or no powers…

"Whose place is it?"

"The Vampire Princes'." Didn't bother to wrap my head around that.

"And where can I find them?"

"I can't tell you that either."

I narrowed my eyes, "I hate this game."

Evanna stood up. My feet took two large steps back without a conscious order. Something deadly had just seeped into the air again. Instead of the heated ferocity from being called a witch, this was much colder. A subtle poison, it seeped in.

"This is _not_ a game." Her voice was dangerously soft. Another glimmer of Steph, but this wasn't reassuring at all.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Being subservient was a gamble. Most of the time it had worked on Steph (she usually _was_ boss and I liked it that way), but there were instances when it hadn't. On the worst occasion, I'd had a vase thrown in the general direction of my head. I say 'direction' because if she meant to hit me with it, she would have. Period.

Considering the possible adversary was a enchantress, glass projectiles would have been preferable.

The room remained icy cold for several long moments. If I were a wolf, I would have long rolled over and exposed my throat and stomach by now. Unfortunately, I was human and humans didn't do that. Even a human gesture might have been irrelevant-it could be something completely different for vampires…

I stood there, eyes lowered, and waited for my skull to split apart.

Instead, Evanna stepped forward. She lifted one finger and curled it: _come closer._ It was an order and I obeyed. Once in range, she swiftly lifted one fist and hit me on the head. It wasn't very hard. Grabbing my chin, she forced me to make eye contact.

"When you see Larten, make him give you some decent information."

I stared at her shocked. Opened my mouth, but then closed it. She'd already put on the pretty blond girl disguise and bred faces into the backs of frogs. Why _wouldn't_ she know it was Crepsley that brought me here? She was a wi-_sorceress_ after all.

"Getting information out of Crepsley is like pulling shark's teeth."

Evanna offered a thin but proud smile,

"That's Larten for you. Given him my regards when you see him."

I paused. _When_ you see Larten_._ My stomach slowly started to drop.

"Ah, when? What if-?"

"My advice is simple. If you wish to speak to the Princes, you're best bet is Larten." Then noting the look on my face, she added,

"Of course, that's all it is: advice. You've pointed out earlier than everyone has a choice. It's your decision." She said with a smile.

And despite the fact that she was being an evil bitch, I smiled back. It wasn't monstrous: it was a deviousness that only belonged to grandmothers. Or maybe just Steph's grandmother. She's the only grandmother I've ever known and that woman could _suggest _and _advise_ in such a way where most people would say 'you know what? You're _right_.' Swear to God, the charisma in that family was inherited. People didn't accumulate it, they were _born_ with it. Evanna was clearly one of those people-

I blinked. Yet the fact remained.

Evanna was just that: a _person._ Not exactly human, _definitely_ a sorceress, but still a person. Which didn't make much sense. People were humans right? That didn't make sense.

But then again, if Tally was- Tally _was_ a vampire and he was not a monster. A monster did not raise me. He was _never_ a monster.

…Right?


	15. II: Chapter 6

Book Dragon: "Please forgive my horrible Spanish."

* * *

Chapter 6

"_The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray, and the advantage of science is that it is not emotional."_ _-Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891_

A dried twig snapped and stabbed into the heel of my foot. It was then that I remembered my shoes were gone. Only paused for a moment to curse, before proceeding forward again, bumbling deeper and deeper into the thickening twilight. It had been over seventy-two hours. The vampire could be anywhere.

I had no idea what I was going to say to him. 'Sorry' didn't seem like it was going to cut it. Worse, his side of the bargain was over. I'd seen the wi-_sorceress_, but instead of peace of mind, there were only more gnawing questions, doubts, and fears. Tally had been a vampire. That's all I knew. That didn't make him any less dead.

And yet it was _something_. Something more, something I could go after…

Drinking in the crisp air, muscles flexing, the ground felt acutely different without the rubber soles and socks. I'd spent plenty of summers running barefoot across lawns in suburbia. I'd forgotten the sensation. Woods had always been tricky, especially when you were trekking down to the pond for a swim. The pebbles still bit, but the cool hard touch of the earth was calming.

Well, until I stubbed a few toes on breaching roots.

Despite this, thoughts still whirled.

The sorceress said there was no curse. The explanation had been 'sorry dear, fate has it in for you', which really wasn't much of an explanation at all. Nor was it a good reason _not_ to be sworn into the bloodsucking brigade, 'sorry boys, fate decided that the Black Death was just the thing for me, better luck next time'. Plus, on top of _that_, I had to see the Vampire Princes. Now, trying to see them _without_ becoming a vampire was as likely as finding icebergs in hell.

And yet-

The darken shape of a man hanging by his feet slammed into view.

Then I lost sight of it. As quickly as my gaze jumped to my left in a double take, there still happened to be a bush blocking my path. I slammed into it. I scratched up my forearms taring out of it, gasping for breath, searching-

But there was nothing. No one. No hanging man.

I turned round in a circle, but still didn't see anyone. Mind playing tricks-?

Except there was this particular tree. It didn't look familiar. Tall and black in the inky darkness with plenty of leaves on it, it looked exactly like all the other trees around here. There was no strange man hanging from it. Not even a strange mark carved into its bark…

Still, I stopped and looked at it very hard. There was a vibe there, humming. Similar to the sensation that seems to press down on the top of your stomach, like a heavy stone, but fizzes like a breath held too long. You know, that initial jolt of anxiety that comes?

Except, I wasn't holding my breath. I was panting.

A voice inside screamed not to go near it. It went mostly ignored. As I approached, I drew my blade just in case.

Trodden grass streaked to the left of the tree trunk. Goosebumps prickled at the sight. The humming grew. For some reason, I thought about the night Crepsley had broken into my apartment, and the sensation I felt standing at the mouth of the alley. Both were similar. Even when I followed Evanna into her cave…

…This must be survival instinct.

Immediately, I relaxed. Of course, wandering in the woods _in the dark alone_ was already pretty dangerous. Having a blaring sense of 'DO NOT GO THAT WAY' was a perfectly natural response to this kind of atmosphere.

Carefully trailing a hand on the trunk, I walked around the base of the tree closer to the disturbed patch of grass. Could possibly be the tracks of a carnivore right? If there was a predator in the area, I could ascertain the kind by its tracks. Being alert like this was perfectly acceptable. Perfectly _normal._ I wasn't cra-

Something grabbed my ankle and pulled hard. The world spun. By the time I gasped, I was hanging upside down by one ankle. A length of chain swung taut with a chiming snap. My suspended weight moved, swinging like a deadened and completely loose pendulum.

I blinked.

Trap.

_Trap? _

Well, clearly there was _now_ good reason to be concerned. Trying to shake the daze off, I fumbled for my knife on impulse. My sheath came up empty. Even if it hadn't been, it would have been useless against the cold thick metal biting into my left ankle. Looking down, I found my dagger shining fairy blue in the moonlight three feet down.

Charna's guts.

_Charna's bloody damn_-

"-guts!" I snarled with a hiss when pain sang.

Bee sting, left calf. Immediately looked up and found a red-feathered dart sunk into my thigh. Not an insect. Bees aren't nocturnal. Shit, why was I…. such a… fuck… up…?

* * *

"…will take two hours going that way. Just give me the damn map!"

Bright lights. Shifted, head throbbing. Nothing but bright painful hot lights coming up from the ground. When had the sun buried itself underground-?

There were voices.

"No, she's the tracker so she picks our routes."

"She's already gotten us lost _twice-"_

"_I don't care_. That's her job."

"Rook-"

"SHH!"

Silence until an owl hooted nearby. Rolled my eyes, but the sun was still coming from below my head and darkness hung overhead like veil. Tongue fuzzy, like I'd been licking twenty-year-old kitchen rug. Even more unpleasant, my legs felt like they wanted to rip right out of their sockets. Hanging-

A black bag appeared to my left. Blinked, dazed. Dreaming again? Except this time, the white cloth was clearly bunched around the top of it. Above the whiteness was pink reddish skin. Real skin, unbelievably real. Red burn marks streaked around where the drawstring of the back sat beneath his Adam's apple. Definitely a man, especially from his build and lack of breasts. Sweat beaded up, trickling down his stomach towards his neck. Pinkish grooves, a maze of scars. Familiar-

…_Do you want to see me naked that badly?_

My eyes widened.

Mr. Purl.

_Charna's guts it was Mr. Purl!_

His arms were tied tight behind his back and black bag was secured loosely over his head, he was hanging from a jutting branch, a thick length of chain knotted around both his ankles. He dangled four feet off the ground, suspended and unmoving.

A scream immediately welled up my throat. _This was a nightmare_.

Before it could erupt, however, a figure emerged fluidly from out of the inky blackness. At first, I thought it was stuck to him, but then I realized he was dressed in black clothing. Casual, almost like a fishing or hunting outfit. His face was tan, stubble. His hair curled oily black in ringlets. Early thirties at the latest, his eyes were hazel and very angry as he grabbed some of my hair and tugged on it.

"HEY!" He yanked once.

"HEY! YOU AWAKE?" English, but with an accent. Spanish-? Didn't bother to reply. Looking around him, it was clear it wasn't sunlight either, but lamps-lamps?- placed on the ground. High beams. Trained in a circle around us like-

His hand snapped out and connected with my face. Slapped hard. My left ear rang with the force of it. Tasted blood.

"...LISTENING NOW? I'm going to ask you some questions. If you lie, I'll know and I'll kill your friend here, understand? COMPRENDE?"

"Are you-?" another voice rose, higher and wobbly,

"Let Chainsaw work."

The Spaniard, Chainsaw, moved nimbly. Soon, he stood poised with my dagger at Purl's throat, just above the drawstring on the bag. Stared, dazed. The blade was mine, the same one that had taken the lives of two people already.

I remembered Braddock pressing his finger to his lips.

I blinked, trying to wipe it out sight. A jitter was trying to manifest itself. _No._ Not the time for that. Instead, I tried to drown it out with other visual details.

Chainsaw was dressed with a vest full of pockets. Apart from being black, it looked like a fisherman's vest, over a black turtleneck. It would have been laughable if not for the gas mask at his neck, the rifle on his back or the grenades at his belt.

Not deer hunters; he was starting to look like a member of the SWAT team. The equation formed, going something like this: humans plus heavy ammunition equals Vampire Hunters.

Fuck.

Chainsaw pressed the tip of the knife dug deeper into the soft tissue of Purl's throat. It drew a bead of blood. A noise came out of the vampire. Half a word that didn't sound completely lucid, something like a growl. That was good; he was still in fighting spirits.

Chainsaw's voice suddenly boomed behind it like a Pit-bull,

"Do you understand? SI OR NO?"

"Si."

That tanned hand eased up on the blade a fraction of an inch. A trickle of red liquid dripped, but that was all. The vampire's throat flexed when he swallowed once. Other than that, Purl was quiet.

"Excellente. Now, are there anymore of you? Should we expect any other idiotas stumbling into any of our traps?"  
"No." Even if Crepsley hadn't been long gone, he definitely wasn't an idiot.

"Are you sure? If you're lying…"

"Yes." Chainsaw glared for a minute. I stared back and pretended I wasn't hanging upside down with one of my boss's closest friends or that we were both probably going to die.

"Who are you?" Chainsaw snarled.

For some reason, he sounded a lot like Smog in that corny version of The Hobbit Warner Brother's made in the early eighties. Tally had given me the videotape as a birthday present, after succumbing to a long and hard war over a television set. Bilbo Baggins' line immediately jumped up in mind:_ Ring Wearer, and Luck Winner, Clue Finder, and the Barrel Rider…_

"The Assistant."

Chainsaw pressed the knife down harder again.

"_Don't toy with me._" He hissed.

"Bonheur. Patricia." Patricia was my mother's name.

"And him, Patty?" I shot a quick look at Purl.

_-an incompetent, clumsy, but close friend._ The lie came rolling off my tongue without a thought.

"Stephen Braddock. He's my employer."

"So you're a half?" Chainsaw growled.

I started at him.

"Half! _Half vampire_?"

I didn't let my eyes stray to Purl. That would be a deadly mistake. I wasn't sure why-

"Do I look like a half vampire?"

"I ASK THE QUESTIONS!" Tapped the edge of the knife into Purl's neck as emphasis before adding, "And if not, your friend-"

_This is Gavner Purl, an incompetent, clumsy, but close friend._

At the word 'friend', Steph's face flashed vividly with one of those battle sneers twisting her lips in a powerful grin.

"You're not going to kill him."

Chainsaw stopped. It was a deadly, deadly pause. Raised his eyebrows and looked out past the burning lights at whoever else happened to be out there, flashing a dangerous looking smile.

"Really now? Are you willing to bet his life on that?" He asked. Fear slithered, but Steph's cool visage came back to life in a snippet: cool and calm as her fingers plucked up her knight by its carved horse head and claimed my queen.

_The moment you stop watching your opponent, you're dead._

"You're not going to kill him." I repeated, mouth dry, "You wanted a prisoner. The lamps give you away."

Purl had said they'd killed three vampires in a month. Even if they were using shitty B-movie inspired code names, these people were not amateurs. They came properly armed, but the lamps were the give away. Lamps aren't of any immediate use as far as weapons go, or at least didn't appear so from the circular alignment. No, the lamps were for containment. They had to be sun lamps.

Chainsaw frowned for only half a second. Then calmly, he withdrew from Purl and leaned forward, bringing his face closer. His nose hung inches from mine. Immediately, Wolf's visage flickered past, that beat of confusion, pain, the life slipping out of his eyes…

The damning and vicious smile Chainsaw wore was much worse.

Much _much_ worse.

"You think you're a clever senorita, don't you?" He asked. My pulse jumped.

"Well, maybe we don't need clever senoritas, half vampires or no. We came for _one_ _prisonero_. _Uno prisonero only_. You're alive because he won't talk. If neither of you talk, well…"

I tried not to flinch when he touched the flat tip of the blade against my forehead.

"…I don't see much reason in keeping you around." He whispered, suddenly hushed. Tapped the point of it very delicately against my skin before tracing the slope of my nose, slowly. Lingered for a long time near my left eye. Tally's corpse flashed, those two black pits above his nose. Had the world looked like this before…?

"But if you change the facts, say give us a little something-something, I'll let you keep one of _your ojos bonitos_…"

"_Not one_."

That wasn't a voice. It couldn't have been a voice. It was a croak that had some how caught some syllables like fish in a gnarled net.

Chainsaw turned around and looked at Purl.

"Say again, Chichi?" Chainsaw asked, tone jovial.

"…Lying…not…us…" He sounded like the rustle of a cornhusk. Breath came out like the crackle of burnt grass, but didn't say anything else.

"He's delirious-," a voice piped from outside.

"_Callate La Boca!_" Chainsaw hissed. The tanned man leaned closer to the black bag and the head closed shut within it. After a moment, I heard whispering. Coaxing and soothing in tone, but the words were pretty much mush.

Purl murmured something then turned silent.

"What did he say?" a third voice asked. This was much different from the other two. It was the voice of someone in charge.

Chainsaw shot an amused grin.

"The senor says she's not one of them, Glass." Chainsaw snorted, then added meaningfully, "He's lying."

Pushing my knife under his belt. He pulled something else out of one of his vest pockets.

"I made sure when I pulled her down. She's descalza and _marked_. Personally, I think two plus two is four." He said, sliding iron-knuckles over his right hand, before hammering it into Purl's stomach.

"One-"

Purl curled up like an inchworm.

"-Two-"

"_STOP IT!_" The scream just ripped right out. He proceeded anyway.

"-Three, four."

When Chainsaw finished, Mr. Purl stayed tensed for another moment, but then finally allowed himself to relax. He hadn't made a sound, but his breath was wet now. But he was a vampire, though. Vampires were _strong_. They can heal very quickly…

Despite this fact, it was very hard to hold on to this thought. Lower and softer words were hissing over and over-_he's going to die-he's going to die-he's going to die-_

"Are you scared, senorita? You should be. Tell me-"

"_Isn't."_ It was a grunt. Or a gust of escaping air. Chainsaw paused. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand. The iron knuckles hadn't come off his right.

"You know, some estudiantes can be pretty thick. Perhaps repetition-"

_This is Gavner Purl, an-_

_ "Shut the fuck up!_" That voice had to stop right now. If it didn't, my sanity was going to take a trip out the backdoor-

Chainsaw appeared in front of me. The metal bar poised above his knuckles was bloody. That should have really sent the terror up several notches up to whimpering level. A month ago, it would have too. That would have been a perfectly reasonable response, but after spending a month traveling cross-country_ with a vampire…_

Fear hummed even still, but it was oddly manageable.

"_Not…_" Purl tried again. _Charna's guts_. Heart thudding, Steph came to mind again. Steph looking up over the cover of Interview With a Vampire and flashing a large smug, yet friendly smile, saying,

'_Tell you what, we'll make our own coven…_'

And all at once everything became very simple.

"Screw-" _you._

The last word didn't even have time to ring in my head. Chainsaw's fist came. I saw it, and tried to swing out of the way by curling up into a ball. He missed my nose, but the bar came down hard below my left eye. There was muffled thud, then bright white pain. Swinging, it took a moment for the heat and a deeper ache to crawl in with claws. A whine rattled against my teeth.

Shock muted all those inner voices. Chainsaw was crystal clear now.

"That's what I do with bravo, senorita. Would you like another?"

Purl didn't grunt. He _growled_.

A rumble resonated in his chest. The fact that he had no voice left only aided the sinister quality of the sound. That did not belong to a man. Even the lack of discernable expression worked to his advantage: it triggered the imagination. My skin turned to gooseflesh.

That was the sound of a monster.

"_Don't touch her."_ It wasn't a warning. It was a threat.

Unfortunately, Chainsaw wasn't as impressed. He didn't even bother to turn around this time. His eyes were intent, gaze searing mine steadily with the turn of the chain.

If I were a braver person, I would have cussed him out. I would have met my death happily. I would have been able to overcome the anxious twist in my guts and feed on Purl's kill lust.

Instead, the chain just swung quietly around: a line with a hooked fish.

Not as manageable as I thought.

Chainsaw turned blurry, despite the adrenaline. The heat was fierce, angry as my eye started to swell shut. Wincing became a default setting. He turned into a black shape. It twisted away for a moment, but then came back up fast, fist raised.

He laughed when I flinched.

"_I'll rip you apart…_" Purl snarled.

"Calmate wey, Mosquito. It was just a little fun-"

"Chainsaw."

It was just a word. One word. The Spaniard immediately straightened up and looked out of the ring. He went quite still. Later, when things turned quiet, I'd remember the intent stillness of his posture. It conjured the image of an alert hunting dog. Nothing else.

"Yes, Rook."

Chainsaw stalked back out of the lights and into the unknown he'd come from. For a while afterward, there were only vague whispers to keep us company.

* * *

_Mosquito._

At five in the morning, wolves had been howling, as if trying to summon their pale mistress despite the sunlight breeching the horizon. By seven o' clock, the sun had come up in all its glory. The world it exposed was not reassuring. Purl was still in a patch of shade, but it was meaningless because the lamps were still on.

Past the ring of lamps, the golden light that slowly crawled across the trampled turf exposed four dark green tents, a dead campfire, six full sleeping bags placed sporadically amongst them, and one black clad back of a man keeping watch duty. The man was also reading a book. It could see the corner of a page. On the edge of camp, a motorcycle stood with a pick-up truck and a van with some kind of carpet cleaning business. The words weren't English, but any idiot can recognize a logo of a sparkling rug.

More interestingly, all the extension chords trailing of the sun lamps, all forty-three of them, converged from about eight power strips about twenty feet away, all bundled into one with plastic ties. That lonely chord tunneled beneath the second tent to the left like a fat boa constrictor.

There had to be a generator in there. One of the really expensive ones because it was quiet and the air was clean. A cheap one would have coughed loudly and spewed gas fumes. When I lived with Tally, our next-door neighbor always turned hers on when the power went out during thunderstorms. It had always disturbed us while watching the lightning. Anyway, I didn't see any gas canisters either, though there was a large collection of crates next to one of the tents-

Another slow throb manifested. It felt like a meat cleaver had split clean through my head. My feet had gone completely numb and that was fine, but _Charna's guts,_ at least it was better than the quick pulsing ache from my cheek. It felt like my face got dented in…

And then my good eye would settle on the body hanging mere feet away.

The night had been extremely rough.

Purl had kept perfectly still for hours. I had slept a little between one and three, but ceased after a frightening five-minute passed when I woke and thought he'd _died_. Even after it was clear that the vampire's chest was _moving,_ the nausea didn't cease for a while. Yes, underneath his lungs were pulling air in and out, in and out from behind the fabric of that bag.

And despite the initial shock, I could have handled that.

What really set me off started at four am: a mutter. I tried not to hear it. He shuddered, arched his back, and groaned,

"_No…please no…"_

Please let this be a nightmare because if he had gone _mad_…

I opened my mouth. To say what, I don't know. It turned out to be nothing. He whispered something else, a name,

"Liz." Just a name. A simple name. That's when I started trembling.

* * *

By seven thirty, the vampire lapsed back into complete silence. I had expected relief. There was none. Instead, unpleasant memories kept buzzing loudly, like a fly at your ear,

_How much sun exposure would it take to kill you?_

_Depends on the time of day. At noon, only a few hours. During the morning or afternoon, the sun is not at full strength so that period of time would naturally increase._

They hadn't shut the lights off once, not even with the sun raining down nearby. It seemed like a waste of energy. Then again, if they wanted control, to instigate a gradual burn…

When was the last time we'd seen Purl? A week ago? Two? How long had he been here? Like this…? No answers for these questions, not even with keen observation. No, there was only this quiet little voice inside that whispered that vile little snarl of a word that had dropped out of Chainsaw's mouth again:

_Mosquito. _

_Why shouldn't I loathe over grown-?_

And occasionally Crepsley's damn introduction would run through like a line of a song you can't get out of your head. _This is Gavner Purl_- and I'd _pray_ for the damn headache to get worse so it would stop.

Instead another unwanted thought came: Liz, who was she? Friend? Family? Lover? Like wading through a briar patch, my mind shifted again, still striving for escape. Turned to just names in general.

For instance, 'Stephen Braddock'.

Oh sure, in a moment of panic stealing the dead officer's name was natural. I'd been having nightmares and his somber pitiful 'why me?' face kept appearing in my nightmares, suggesting I should be the dead one. Also, the fact that I'd dreamt he was standing next to a man hanging upside down was _worse. _As if this were all divine providence.

_Predetermined fate is bullshit._

No, his name just hung around begging to be said, but _why the hell had I chosen 'Stephen'? _I knew of no Stephens, literal or fictional. But it had been there, ready. Not _Melvin _or _Freddy_ or _Brain_ but Stephen. Stephen, Stephen, Steph-

A page turned with a crisp rustle. Tar Pit, the current guard, hunched over his book more. The sound, on the other hand, cut off the last syllable.

Steph.

Stephanie.

Stephen.

_-an incompetent, clumsy, but close friend._

The tent surrounded by crates rustled. A flap opened and a thin and rather scrawny looking kid stepped out. After the SWAT-like personal, this was completely unexpected. He looked fifteen at most, around Blake's age. Unlike Blake though, this kid was mostly bones. A Pink Floyd T-shirt hung on him. Thin-wired spectacles hung on his ears with lenses like magnifying glasses.

He approached. A syringe was poised between three fingers of his right hand. It was half full with some clear fluid. After a few soft words with the book-reading guard, he shuffled carefully between the lamps and stopped smartly in front of Purl.

With his free hand, he prodded Purl's torso in several places. The vampire didn't move. Apparently satisfied with the lack of reaction, the kid then tapped the syringe, squirted a bit out, and leaned forward and stuck it into Purl's's shoulder. My pulse jumped up several notches. In movies that final liquid used in lethal injections was clear. Funny about that, movies, how accurate or inaccurate they could choose to be…

When the kid leaned back, it was empty. He rubbed disinfected over the tiny wound before plucking a cotton swab and a little bit of medical tape from his pocket. Ripped a piece off the tape with his teeth. With each passing second, the slow headache cracked up the pressure.

"What did you give him?"

Again, nothing at all. Not even a glance this time. The kid finished up and turned around, heading back for the lamps-

"_If you keep those lamps on you're going to kill him, Glass._"

That got a pause. Black converse shoes stopped in the grass. After a second they turned around and strolled. It was a stroll. There was absolutely no hurry. Through aquarium glass, two brown eyes swam like river fish.

The voice that came out of him was unexpected. Not whinny and nasally but smooth and calm like a cello,

"You think I'm Glass, hm?"

_You bet your ass_. Instead, I said nothing. After a second, he shifted his feet. Then he switched the empty syringe from one hand to the other and prodded two fingers at the swell beneath my eye. I flinched, chain twanging. With steely fingers he grabbed one shoulder and turned my head to the side.

"Does this hurt?" He asked, pressing with his thumb.

My eyes watered, but I still said nothing. After a moment, he pulled away.

"It's fractured. Do you know how I can tell? You're refraining from moving your jaw when you speak and that eye is bloodshot. If he'd broken it, your face would have been flatter and you'd probably be missing some teeth. You're very lucky, Patty."

Not a word. A thin smirk curled and he adjusted his glasses.

"…Though, that should have healed two hours ago. Braddock's-" He thumbed over his shoulder, "-rips fractured but are no longer broken even with the lights working on him. It's only about sixty degrees out here. Seventy tops, even with the lights. He's running at, oh, I'd say a hundred three or a hundred four. You, on the other hand, are only about ninety nine point seven."

He paused for a moment while he fished something out of his pocket. It was a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. He clasped a cigarette between his lips but didn't speak again until he'd lit it, taken a drag, and exhaled. He continued to hold onto the empty syringe.

"Slow regenerative ability and little to no reaction against UV lights: this is the typical response most _humans_ exhibit. I find this interesting considering you have been blooded. Assuming you weren't lying…"

There was an urge to look at Purl. Didn't.

"Then why am I marked?"

His smirk jumped a fraction of an inch wider. He pointed with his cigarette. He could have easily scored brownie points if he'd performed that same gesture with the needle of the syringe. Or perhaps the anxiety the syringe was meant to produce had already been made.

"Now _that's_ the interesting question. Tar Pit."

The guard turned around. The Kid carefully tossed the medical implement at him, as if he'd been reading my mind. Tar Pit caught it and turned back to his book without a word. On the cover, it said Salem's Lot. Staring at it, it felt more like a dream. Like this couldn't be happening-

But the kid put the cigarette back in his mouth and wiped the sweat off his hands onto his pants. Holding them up like the pans of a weighing scale, he spoke out of the side of his mouth,

"Here, we got 'Vampire'," He shook his left hand, then raised his right, " and here we got 'Human'. Everybody knows humans _become_ vampires. However, all the geeks, nerds, and writers seem to disagree on exactly _how_ this done. They don't really matter. It _does_ help when your enemy thinks you _believe_ all that happy horseshit though. Anyway, these few that _do_ know: they're the vampires. Are you following me on this?"

He paused, but seemed unaffected by the lack of response.

"Anyway, this has the experts scratching their heads. We have some facts and field experience, but not nearly enough. For instance, every expert knows a vamp by the scars on their fingers tips. This is clearly part of the turning process. Considering how important blood factors into this, to vampires in general, the theory is they pull a less violent Anne Rice and just transfer a pint or two. Yeah?

"Because Vampire blood is special. Stoker wasn't too far off when he described vampirism as an illness. A coworker of mine has submitted a hypothesis that vampirism might actually be a _virus_, you know like HIV. Viruses have their own set of genetic material. They replicate by hijacking healthy cells and exchanging their DNA with that of the body's cells. Infected cells create more viruses and inadvertently your body starts to destroy itself."

His cello-like voice turned more fluid, animated with pleasure.

"Vampire blood behaves like this. They have two more pairs of chromosomes than humans do. The hypothesis goes that the other two (we're calling them V and W on account of their shape), are injected to human cells the blood mixes with. It's amazing stuff. Do you know it also _alters_ atoms? That's why they can't be photographed. Still, my point is vampires actually share a lot in common with human genetics. You know, the same way chimpanzees' DNA compares to humans'."

The kid paused. He sucked down the rest of his cigarette, then said,

"Actually, to tell you the truth, what we currently don't understand is how exactly one gets from point A to point B in the...let's say the 'mutation' process. Let's assume the hypothesis is correct; a slow acting virus could account for that curious between phase your people like to call 'half vampire'. It would take time to rewrite an entire body's cells.

"But the real question is _how_ _much time?_

"For instance, is the change gradual or do you pull a Spiderman and start writhing on the floor with a fever? We don't know. You seem pretty human right now, but what happens in two days? Do you sprout fangs then? Don't answer that, it was a joke. Your enamel will harden enough to rival steel sure…but how long will that take? A year? Five years? A decade? We don't know, but it's something I intend to find out."

He dropped the smoking stub and crushed it with the tip of his shoe. His gaze turned to Purl. His nose wrinkled.

"I've already gotten all the information I'm going to get out of him. Frankly, he's been hanging around too long. I'm sick of looking at him. That's why you have a choice. If you agree to answer some of my questions, I'll let him go. What do you think about that?"

Silence. After a while, the boy shrugged his shoulders.

"No rush…He'll last the night, but not another day. Believe me, I've got it down to a science now. Just ask for me when you figure out what you want to do…"

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he ambled back towards the lights. At the edge of them, he stopped again and added over his shoulder,

"Oh, and I nearly forgot. Glass is our physiologist. I'm Rook. Pleasure talking to you."

* * *

An orb weaver spider daggled by a white thin line in a black void. It was bright crimson, like a cardinal.

_"…icia."_

The single sticky strand delicately stretched from the network of netting above. It was a death trap for half a dozen insects. They all appeared to be very similar. Coming closer, it was apparent they were all of the same species.

_"…eur."_

Mosquitoes.

_"…rtica…"_

In a wink, the picture pulled out like a camera. The action destroyed the black void and allowed the mind to encompass the adjacent vase and tombstone. It read Michael Braddock. Swinging to the left, another bore Anthony "Wolf" De Luca-

There was a bright light.

"…Bonheur? Patricia Bonheur?"

The small flashlight lowered, revealing a long nervous looking face beneath a crop of red orange hair. It was a light shade compared Crepsley's. The voice became muffled and far away.

"Patricia? Damn. Get Rook. People _can't_ be hung up side-down for this long, I don't care if she's half…"

It was happening again, another blackout. Sight drifting to the side, Purl was still hung up like a proud fisherman's shark. Still there. Not in bits…

…Back to the red cherry spiders, scurrying, scurrying like fire across a coffin.

Braddock held a finger to his lips. _Shhh_…

* * *

Cold liquid sloshed cold across my teeth, biting the bone.

Woke up flailing. Laughter chorused and seemed to dominate the air. Beneath it a chain clanged, but only briefly. The world swirled back into focus and exposed a thin beanstalk looking man sitting on his butt in the grass like a crab. Water had darkened his shirt and pants. Half a bottle lay near his left hand.

And around us lay a circle of breathing shadows.

"Do you want me to hold her down?" That was Chainsaw.

Beanstalk picked up the bottle. After that, his face settled and his eyes focused. He had the red hair.

"That won't be necessary, thank you." He shifted forward, clearly determined. My hands jerked, but they were cuffed at my back, chained around the tree trunk. So were my ankles. Lying on my side, I could see five men, fully armed. The air was like lead.

But at least I wasn't hanging upside down anymore.

"Drink this." He held out the bottle at an arm's length.

I turned my head away. Purl was still hanging by his ankles. Shuddered to think about the condition of his feet must be in…

Or his head.

"Doesn't look like she wants any, Glass." Said a second voice. How many did that make now? Twenty perhaps? Twenty people?

"Miss, if you don't drink you're going to keep fainting. At some point, you might not wake up…"

Stupid threat. They _wanted_ me alive. Studying half vampires was top priority by the sound of Rook. Part of me was viciously glad I was still a human being. Rook had said '_we_' after all. When 'we' found out I was just a human, they were obviously going to be very _very_ disappointed.

And murderously angry. Yet…

_She's not one of us._

"Let Braddock go. Then I'll drink."

More laughter, like it was the joke of the year. I turned my head away from them. It had been worth a shot.

* * *

Running out of time, now. It was three in the afternoon. Purl had survived noon because Rook had come out himself to turn down the lamps a fraction. He did it slowly just to lengthen the temptation to give in. He'd said Purl would last the night, but not tomorrow. Unfortunately, tomorrow was not enough time for me to starve or die of thirst, so there was no threatening _that._

The chains were also pretty solid. Pulling didn't work, _of course _it didn't work but you had to try these things. Nor were there any handy sticks to use as a lever. No stones to hit with, and since both arms were tied snugly behind my back along with my feet; I could not possibly even break my wrist or chew it off. My limbs had fallen asleep, but I still could have managed that much. The term was 'hogtied', never mind tethered to a tree.

And even if I magically got out of my restraints, there was still the guard constantly on duty.

Bastard and Raccoon replaced Tar Pit. They switched off with T-Bird, then T-Bird with Linebacker. During the night, they had two man shifts that switched off every three hours. During the day, it was one man for every four. That was understandable, the chances of a vampire attacking during the day was less likely. However, each of them were careful to sit in direct sunlight with a full bottle of water. Bastard and Raccoon had both taken the noon shift in case of heat exhaustion.

They didn't expect to be attacked, but they clearly weren't taking chances either. I laid my head back against the grass and tried not to look at Mr. Purl. Truth was, we had no options. Instead, all I had was the slim hope that the enemy would slip up and I'd have the sense to recognize it in time because if not…

_This is Gavner Purl…_

…Then there would be another name to add to my list. It would make ten. A nice even number.

Even with the wolves howling in the distance, a sound that would have cheered Tally and I up once upon a time, all I felt was despair.

* * *

Dusk. Glass came back with the water bottle again. This was the third time. Chainsaw was on shift. He'd picked up a stray stick and started whittling something out of it with a hunting knife. It looked suspiciously like a stake. He paused to smile like a hyena, before scrapping off another wood shaving. From the way Glass stiffened his stance, it was clear he was afraid of the man. He gave the Spaniard a wide berth upon approach.

"Why don't you just wait for her to beg you?" Chainsaw asked. Or maybe suggested. Glass was quiet for a minute. Then he mumbled,

"…Because she won't. She's too proud."

Chainsaw snorted, "When it comes to water, pride withers. Trust me, muchaco."

"Well, you-"

The air suddenly swelled with a high-pitched and obnoxiously happy music. Chainsaw flinched and sliced open his thumb, spilling blood. I could even smell it. Purl noticed. His whole body stiffened. Chainsaw hissed, then snarled,

"_Shut that_-!"

"SORRY! Sorry!" Glass piped, wrestling with one cargo pocket of his pants. Chainsaw dropped the knife and had pulled out a handkerchief. He was applying pressure in a flippant way that suggested how rabidly the white cloth was turning pink wasn't a big deal. If anything, he just clamped a fist around it and smoldered.

Glass finally got the thing out. It was a cell phone. I never owned a cell phone. Steph had. Several of them. Each device had caused enough trouble for the both of us, especially with the fact that her father called a lot. Steph had tried to flush one of them down the toilet once. Never saw a use for them. Not even now.

Glass opened it with a snap,

"Hello? Mom?" He said.

"You have got to be kidding-"

"-Ah, no, I don't think it would be a good time to talk…" Glass shuffled his feet and bent his head. He shot Chainsaw a pleading look. The Spaniard _glowered_, but turned quiet_._ Glass snatched another look at Chainsaw, probably to ascertain if he should be running or not, before turning around for privacy. I lost his face and got only sight of his ear and the phone itself.

"…Yes…yes…" he whispered, "…uh huh. Sure…no don't do that. Ah-look," Glass, turned back around and shot an apologetic look at Chainsaw, "I'm kind of busy right now, can we continue this later…? Yeah…yeah…all right I will. Yeah, you too, bye."

Glass glanced at the phone, and then snapped it shut.

"Oh, God damn it." He said.

That was it. Something was up. His tone was off. It didn't sound right. You know the same way a nun snarling 'son of whore' when she missed a paragraph of scripture doesn't sound right?

"What?" Chainsaw asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing. She wanted to complain about the mortgage again…maybe I should-"

Glass started to shuffle away.

"Maybe you should take a look at mi dedo, Doc." Chainsaw replied in a low voice.

Glass stopped like a rabbit. _S_omething was _definitely_ up. Unfortunately, the Spaniard knew it too. Glass twisted around, trying for something like an apology. Instead, he just looked frightened.

"…C-course, course. Sorry-my mother just gets so pushy…let me see…"

Glass leaned closer as the man offered his hand. Unfortunately, the psychiatrist/doctor didn't pay any attention to his other one. Inside the span of two blinks, Chainsaw had pushed the gangly man to the ground and pinned him by his throat. Squirming and finally shouting a little too late, Glass growled,

"Let go! GET OFF ME!"

Chainsaw ignored him. He tore the pocket open, scooped out the cell phone, and held it over his head. Staring at the screen, he started thumbing buttons and ignored the blood leaking down his arm. At once, Glass started to struggle much harder.

Raccoon and Tar Pit appeared. They stared at the two of them, but seemed to understand Chainsaw was a special case and stood by, warily watching the two men. After what felt like an age, Chainsaw finally stopped. He looked at something, and then chucked the phone at Raccoon before twisting back around to the doctor on the ground.

"Muy listo, Glass. I'm impressed. You actually managed to fake a phone call to take some fotos. Why?"

Glass stilled. There comes a time when you realize struggling isn't going to do you any good. He stared up at Chainsaw, but didn't utter a word.

The man sighed,

"…Damn, it's too bad. I would have bought it too just because su Nene de Mama. Unfortunately momma's boys don't cuss. Why you taking pictures, Glass? You know we're not suppose to do that…"

Glass took a cautious breath. Chainsaw did not smother it out of him. Very quietly, the doctor steeled his voice and asked in a whisper,

"…Then you saw the photos weren't blurry, correct?"

And there, ladies and gentlemen, came the thundering silence. Unfortunately, since the scuffle had begun, Raccoon and Tar Pit had grown to include Raccoon, Tar Pit, T-Bird, and a few other faces I hadn't identified yet. Two of them were women. There were at least eight now. Eight is plenty of people for an audience.

Chainsaw leaned forward, carefully,

"_Glass, I don't give a flying sh-_"

Chainsaw never finished.

He was cut off when the wolf tackled him.


End file.
